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She larnt him ter call Ty 'Cap'n, bein' she's sorter proud of it, 'kase Ty war a cap'n of a critter company in the war: 'twarn't sech a mighty matter nohow; he jes got ter be cap'n through the other off'cers bein' killed off. An' the leetle boy got it twisted somehows, an' calls her 'Cap'n 'an' Ty 'Neighbor, from hearin' old man Jeemes, ez comes in constant, givin' him that old-fashioned name.
In one corner was a revolving case containing a set of the "Century Dictionary" which Jeemes assured me had been purchased by Mr. Cross as a present for his wife a short time before she died. This caused my faith to waver a trifle and put to flight a fine bit of literary frenzy that might have found form soon in a sonnet.
Nae boot here's the place, Maister Traill; an' ye can see for yer ainsel' there's no' any dog." "Ay, that would be Auld Jock and Bobby would no' be leaving him," insisted the landlord, stubbornly. He stood looking down at the rough mound of frozen clods heaped in a little space of trampled snow. "Jeemes Brown," Mr.
"Thank ye, Jeemes, thank ye; we're a' obleeged tae ye," said Drumsheugh. "Nae fear o' him; thae neer-dae-weels haena the spunk; but a'm expeckin' he 'ill flee the pairish." Which he did. Had you called him indolent or useless he had smiled, but "daidlin', thowless, feckless, fushionless wratch," drew blood at every stroke, like a Russian knout.
"Whaur did the bit dog go, man?" demanded the peremptory landlord. "Dog? There's no' ony dog i' the kirkyaird. It isna permeetted. Gin it's a pussy ye're needin', noo " But Mr. Traill brushed this irrelevant pleasantry aside. "Ay, there's a dog. I let him in my ainsel'." The caretaker exploded with wrath: "Syne I'll hae the law on ye. Can ye no' read, man?" "Tut, tut, Jeemes Brown.
He approached; came down the walk swinging a bunch of keys, looking me over as he came, to see what sort of wares I had to sell. "Did George Eliot live here?" I asked through the bars. "Mrs. Cross lived 'ere and died 'ere, sir," came the solemn and rebuking answer. "I mean Mrs. Cross," I added meekly; "I only wished to see the little garden where she worked." Jeemes was softened.
"It air Jeemes Coggin," quavered the little boy. "Coggin, hey?" exclaimed Brierwood, with a new idea bringing back the malicious twinkle to his eyes. He laughed as though mightily relieved, and threw up his left hand and shook it exultingly. The shadow on the dark wall of that maimed hand with only the stump of a thumb was a weird, a horrible thing to the child.
I don't quite remember you, sir," with a slight shake of the gray head. "And Donald, lad, you've grown wonderful old, somehow." "It's the years, Jeemes," was the reply. "The years make us all old, sooner or later." The gardener seemed puzzled, and examined his companions more carefully. He did not seem to be suffering any pain. Finally he sighed.
But with all this drawin' uv the wool ovah ole Hiram's eyes, Jeemes hain't succeedin' egzactly with the gal, an' he's cute 'nough to see whah the hitch is; so he uses his influence with her pap to belittle an' backbite the one she does favor. Mark my words, thet slick-tongued lawyer is et the bottom uv a lot o' this devilment."
This he stuffed into his own pocket as he talked on about two witches, whom he said he had met that afternoon under an oak-tree feeding on acorns. "An' now, I kem ter remind myself that them witches war inquirin' round 'bout'n a boy war his name Jeemes Coggin? Le''s see! That boy's name war Jeemes Coggin!"
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