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Updated: May 8, 2025
The herds had to see to this final distribution themselves, each feeding his own pair at different corners of the yard, ready to check growlings which might end in fights with the stern toe of a mountain boot, very proper to the purpose. Even oftener than her father, Patsy came to Glenanmays.
A large farm it was, needing many hands to work it, byre, stable, plough-lands, hill pasture, flat and heathery in appearance and outline, but satisfactory for sheep-feeding that was Glenanmays. Diarmid had three sons and four daughters, with most of whom this history must one time or another concern itself.
Why, officers of his Majesty have boasted of having met and talked to her dressed only in yellow sandals and a blue bathing dress!" "And, pray, whose fault was that?" her father demanded. "Not mine," said Julian calmly, "she ran to save the Glenanmays lads from the press-gang; and if the sandals were mine, she ran better with them than without." "So have I heard all that," said my Lord.
Patsy had found piles of unwashen dishes and spoons, for the boys of the Glenanmays family depended for cleaning up upon uncertain, semi-occasional visits, from one or other of their sisters. What they wanted at the time they took out and washed in the pleasant tumble of the hill brook which passed their door on its way down to meet the Abbey Burn a little above Uncle Julian's house.
Dark lay Glenanmays at the head of the wide Mays Water. Flash flash flash each double the duration of the first. Then came the blackness of darkness again, and anon half-a-dozen swift needle-points of light chasing one another as quickly as the eye could register them. "There is danger ... to the north keep farther away!" Captain Penman read off the coded message. "That's one of our folk.
So Patsy went often to Glenanmays, and without interrupting the busy round of the afternoon's duties, prescribed by Diarmid for each member of his family, she made her way to the little shed hidden by the burnside, on the green in front of which the clothes-lines were strung, and clean garments fluttered in the sea-wind, fresh and glad as ship's bunting.
All the rest of the table sat bareheaded the sons and daughters whom God had given him, as well as the hired servant, and even the stranger within his gates. For at Glenanmays there was no master but old Diarmid Garland.
Stair occasionally showed himself at Glenanmays, and even made bold to walk in the High Street of Cairnryan on a fair-day, none daring to meddle with him, and the very officers of local justice turning aside for a dram at the first sight of him. He was believed never to move without such a body-guard as could cut its way through a squadron.
He left the men and women in the drama which was unrolling itself about Glenanmays to take care of themselves. He might not have had any the least interest in them. He gave his whole thought to Whitefoot, Stair's lean, shaggy collie. By observation he obtained a good working knowledge of the whereabouts of Whitefoot's master not sufficient, certainly, to act upon if it had been a case of capture.
But now he, Stair the doer, was without while Patsy was within with Louis the dreamer. At this time Stair had more liberty to come and go. He could now spend some of his days at Glenanmays helping his brothers and sisters in any emergency. The attack upon the Duke of Lyonesse had been hushed up so far, that is, as any official inquiry was concerned.
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