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Updated: May 14, 2025
"H-a-y!" and "Ye'ow-w-w-w!" At Thingvalla his main food was curds and black bread, yet he had an abundance of the best provisions. He was a thorough Icelandic scholar, and spoke the language with ease and grace, only when interrupted by the novel ideas that so often struck him in the head. With all his oddity, he was a gentleman by birth and education, and was very amiable in his disposition.
He yawned a good deal over his reading, and was quite sure several times that h-a-y spelt "ham," and s-a-w spelt "was," but still, on the whole, he got through very well. Milly wrote her copy, then she learnt some verses of a poem called "Lucy Gray," and last of all mother found her a big map of Westmoreland, the county in which the mountains are, and they had a most delightful geography lesson.
Yes; here we are: H-a-y Haynes Private Sanatorium number, Oscahana one-nine. You call 'em." "What shall I say?" "Where the devil's that cartridge clip you took away from me?... Give it here.... And I want my money."
It can be understood, then, that a moment ensued when the little boy wavered under the steady questioning scrutiny of eight large and powerful cows, all chewing at him in unison. Yet, even so, and knowing, moreover, that strange cows are ever untrustworthy, only for a moment did he waver. Then his new straw hat was off to be shaken at them and he heaved a fierce "H-a-y y-u-p!"
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