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Rilla resisted. "It'th for Mithter Meredith," she lisped. "Give it to me. I'LL give it to him," said Mary. "No. Thuthan thaid that I wathn't to give it to anybody but Mithter Mer'dith or Aunt Martha," insisted Rilla. Mary eyed her sourly. "You think you're something, don't you, all dressed up like a doll! Look at me. My dress is all rags and I don't care! I'd rather be ragged than a doll baby.
Woodcock turned restive after the first visit, and wouldn't invite her again. 'Ha, ha! Woodcock hath alwayth a thoft place in hith heart for a pretty fathe. It'th odd how he came to marry that plain woman, and no fortune either. 'Mysteries of the tender passion, said Mr. Ely. 'I am not initiated yet, you know. Here Mr.
What shall we say for lot number 17? Will any one start the bidding at one sovereign?" "Two!" Mr. Absolom offered. "More than it'th worth, perhaps, but I'll rithk it." "It is certainly more than it's worth," Mr. Waddington admitted, dolefully. "However, if you have the money to throw away two pounds, then." Mr.
There's a grave at the end of most of the trails out here. The trails aren't very long, some of 'em. The wind sweeps over 'em lonely and sad day after day. They're quiet enough, Heaven knows. The wrangle and noise are all on the edge of 'em, just as you're getting ready to get in." "I'm not joking, Phil. All my life I have wanted to get out here. It'th a fever in the blood."
At leatht I don't think I shot ten. Nor one. I don't think I didn't, pwaps." "But hang it all, the thing's an Italian rapier, by Gad. Some one must have shown you how to make the thing, or you've got a picture. It's a pukka mediaeval rapier." "No it'th not. It'th my thword.
'Upon my life, Thir, it'th a very fine piethe of work, says Puddock, who viewed the wiglet with the eye of a stage-property man, and held it by a top lock near the candle. 'The very finetht piethe of work of the kind I ever thaw. 'Tith thertainly French. Oh, yeth we can't do such thingth here. By Jove, Thir, what a wig that man would make for Cato!
Puddock's plump panic-stricken little face, and staring eye-balls, were approached close to the writhing features of his redoubted principal as I think I have seen honest Sancho Panza's, in one of Tony Johannot's sketches, to that of the prostrate Knight of the Rueful Countenance. 'I wish to Heaven I had thwallowed it myself it'th dreadful what ith to be are you eathier I think you're eathier.
They mind me o' last year's early tatties. They're grand when they're gude, but the feck o' them's frostit." "Ay," said the Deacon, "and young Gourlay's frostit in the shaw already. I doubt it'll be a poor ingathering." "Weel, weel," said Tam Wylie, "the mair's the pity o' that, Deacon." "Oh, it'th a grai-ait pity," said the Deacon, and he bowed his body solemnly with outspread hands.
"That horthe ith thlow ath a old moolly cow! It'th an old thlow-poke! What a thkinny nag! That horthe eath nothin' but newthpaper and thtring!" he yelled. "That Chub is just a horrid-looking child," said Patricia, "an' he's the Jimmy boy's brother, but nobody'd ever think it." "Who's the Jimmy boy?" Arabella asked. "Why, don't you know the boy that we see sometimes at Dorothy Dainty's house?"
Thturk has theen him that he'th under the action of poithon and it'th quite impractithable, gentlemen, that thith affair of honour can protheed at prethent; and Puddock drew himself up peremptorily, and replaced his hat, which somebody had slipped into his hand, upon his round powdered head. Mr.
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