"If you go in that direction, we'll come to Great Peak," Jan told him; "and we must get to the woods beyond Loby." "Yes, I know," returned Lars, "but farther up there's a crossroad where it's better driving." "What road might that be? I've never seen it." "Wait, and I'll show you," said Lars, determined to continue up the mountain.
"And here's my hand," Jan said presently, in an uncertain voice that betrayed both shyness and anxiety and put out a hand, which despite all his hard toil had always remained singularly soft. "I do this because the girl wants me to," he added. "And here's mine," said Katrina. "I don't understand what it could have been that you saw, but if you and the girl want us to stick together, so do I."
As I take it, she's going to keep on the farm. "That's about the shape o't, 'a b'lieve," said Jan Coggan. "Ay, 'tis a very good family. I'd as soon be under 'em as under one here and there. Her uncle was a very fair sort of man. Did ye know en, shepherd a bachelor-man?" "Not at all." "I used to go to his house a-courting my first wife, Charlotte, who was his dairymaid.
"You see, if you came down to 'The Green Hart, Jan couldn't say anything, for you've a perfect right to stay there if you choose, and I know it would help her and strengthen her hands to talk things over with you. She has spoken much of your kindness to them all in India. "Do you fish, I wonder? I'm sure Squire Walcote would be amiable to any friend of Jan's. "Believe me, yours truly,
"Are you thinking of getting married?" she asked, with the real interest such a subject always rouses in woman. "That depends," Mr. Withells said consciously, "on whether the lady I have in mind ... er ... shall we sit down, Miss Ross? It's rather hot in the walks." "Oh, not yet," Jan exclaimed. She couldn't think why, but she began to feel uncomfortable.
This monument is erected by said Maria Pypelings Rubens to her sweetest and well-deserved husband." Of course, no one knew then that one of the seven the youngest son of Jan and Maria was to win deathless fame, or that might have been carved on the slab, too, even if something else had to be omitted.
Tiny's nephew, Bob Morton from Indiana, has come to stay with us. This is him on the nail keg." Shuffling further into the room Jan peered inquisitively at the guest. "So you're Tiny's nephew, eh?" he commented, examining the visitor's countenance with curiosity. "Well, well! To think of some of Tiny's relations turnin' up at last! Not that it ain't high time, I'll say that.
"There is nobody in the world, Jan, dead or alive, who could bring trouble to me, save Frederick Massingbird. Anybody else may come, so long as he does not." "Ah! You are thinking only of Sibylla." "Of whom else should I think?" "Yourself," replied Jan. Lionel laughed in his gladness. How thankful he was for his wife's sake ONE alone knew. "I am nobody, Jan.
Sir Henry Tempest ran his eyes over Jan's face and figure: an honest face, but an ungainly figure; loose clothes that would have been all the better for a brush, and the edges of his high shirt-collar jagged out. "Mr. Verner?" responded Sir Henry doubtingly. "Not Mr. Verner. I'm only Jan. You must have forgotten me long ago, Sir Henry."
As he came nearer, he observed a second figure, which rose from behind the dogs and advanced to meet him. A dozen paces ahead of the team it stopped and waited. "Our dogs are so near exhaustion that we're afraid to take them any nearer," said a voice. "They'd die like puppies under those packs!" The voice thrilled Jan. He advanced with his back to the fire, so that he could see the stranger.