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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Gerald, come with me, and here, put this on." He pulled off his gray flannel coat and tossed it to Jerry, and Jerry did put it on and ran after him, tucking up the sleeves. I saw them get into the dinghy and row back to the boat, and I said: "Oh, Gregs, we're going home, we're going home!" and we both cried a little.
"I couldn't get much," he said, "because the place I found was very shallow, but I can go again." I remembered reading in books that you mustn't give much water to fever-stricken people in any case. We lifted Greg's head up, that is, Jerry did, while I held the root-beer bottle glass, and said: "Here's the drink, Gregs, dear."
Just as Jerry crawled out of the cave and stretched himself stiffly, Greg took his hand away from mine and blinked out at the sky, and said in almost his own voice: "Have we been here all the time?" "Yes, all the time, ducky," I said, and then I cried, "Don't try to move, Gregs!" for I saw him trying to squirm over. He lay back and said "Why?" but then in an instant he knew why.
"What on earth is all that?" Jerry asked him. "Drop it and get your hat." "It's my costume," Greg explained, out of breath from having dragged all the things down from the attic. "Glory!" Jerry said, "You don't suppose you're going to lug all that rubbish on to the ferry, do you? Not while I'm with you, my boy." "You couldn't begin to put on half of it, Gregs," I said.
One of the curious features of that not very distant time was the Apprentice House. The employer procured children from the workhouse and undertook the entire charge of them. The Gregs usually had a hundred boys and girls between the ages of ten and twenty-one in their apprentice house, and the care of them was one of the main occupations of the family.
It was the queerest topsy-turvy morning I ever spent. After Mother came down and told us that Gregs was fixed and that Doctor Topham had given him something to make him sleep, we all went in and had lots of breakfast. Mother and the Bottle Man, too, for neither of them had had any.
Stanley, afterwards Bishop of Norwich, and father of the famous Dean of our own day, was rector of the adjoining parish of Alderley. Catherine Stanley, his wife, has left a charming memorial of the home of the Gregs. Have you ever been to Quarry Bank? It is such a picture of rational, happy life. Mr.
I will tell you about them after dinner, dear. It is a long story, but you won't have to wait until Dick and the Gregs are gone. They are interested in all that interests us, and shall hear the letter read. No; I think I will ask them and Dick to come in the morning. I should not like anything to sadden the first evening of our coming home." "Then it is something sad."
In Ireland the Gregs belonged to the Presbyterians of the New Light, and their doctrine allowed of a considerable relaxation in the rigours of older orthodoxy. Many, again, of the Puritans of the North of England had favoured the teachings of Priestley. The result of these two streams of influence was that the Gregs of Manchester joined the Unitarians. In this body W. R. Greg was brought up.
Now, said Pantagruel, thou speakest naturally, and so let him go, for the poor Limousin had totally bewrayed and thoroughly conshit his breeches, which were not deep and large enough, but round straight cannioned gregs, having in the seat a piece like a keeling's tail, and therefore in French called, de chausses a queue de merlus. Then, said Pantagruel, St. Alipantin, what civet?
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