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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Scrimmage last night; what do you mean, Corporal Nixon whom had you the scrimmage with?" These remarks fell at the same moment from the lips of the commander and those of the surgeon, the latter rubbing his hands with delightful anticipation of the treat in store for him. "With the Indians, captain," replied Nixon; "the Indians that attacked Mr. Heywood's farm."
The tiny flame of a pith wick, floating in a saucer of oil, showed Heywood's gatekeeper sitting at his post, like a gnome in the gallery of a mine. Rudolph tore away the bar, heard the heavy gate slam shut, and found himself running down the starlit road. Not all starlight, however; a dim red glow began to flicker on the shapes which rushed behind him in his flight.
It is thence only a step, and a very short one, to John Heywood's interludes though it is a step that took more than a century to accomplish. The first shepherd comes in complaining of the hard weather; his fingers are chapped, the storms blow from every quarter in turn. 'Sely shepardes, moreover, are put upon by any rich upstart and have no redress.
At last, however, it had become clear, to the great annoyance of not a few amongst his neighbours, that Heywood's leanings were to the parliament. But he had never yet sought to influence his son in regard to the great questions at issue.
"Ah Pat, my friend he b'long number one Flickleman, boss man." The withered little creature bobbed in his blue robe, grinning at the introduction. "You welly high-tone man," he murmured amiably. "Catchee goo' plice." "All the same, I don't half like it," was Heywood's comment later. He had led his guest upstairs into a bare white-washed room, furnished in wicker.
Nick thought of his mother's voice singing on a summer's evening among the hollyhocks, and as the viol's droning died away he drew a deep breath and began to sing the words of "Heywood's newest song": "Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day; With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft, To give my love good-morrow!"
The only fruit of this union was a daughter, and here, as far as fortune was concerned, they might have enjoyed every comfort in life, for Mrs. Heywood's property was principally situated in the neighborhood, but her husband was of too restless a nature to content himself with a sedentary life.
"You shall pay me for that, you double-faced, thread-bare lout!" screamed Gammer Gurton, as she rushed on Hodge with clenched fist. But John Heywood's cunning servant had anticipated this; he had already slipped under the large table which stood in the middle of the room.
George's Hall the interior hall itself, I mean is a spacious, lofty, and most rich and noble apartment, and very satisfactory. The pavement is made of mosaic tiles, and has a beautiful effect. April 7th. I dined at Mr. J. P. Heywood's on Thursday, and met there Mr. and Mrs. of Smithell's Hall.
Thick dregs from the goblet splashed on the tiles. A head, the flattened profile of the brisk man in yellow, leaned far out from the little port-hole. Grunting, he shook the inverted cup, let it dangle from his hands, stared up aimlessly at the stars, and then to Heywood's consternation dropped his head to meditate, looking straight down.
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