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Updated: June 8, 2025
Upon it appeared the basket from Drift, stored with cream, butter, eggs and apples. Thomasin sat in the low chair by the fire with her apron over her face, and that was always a bad sign, as Tom knew. "What day be this, bwoy?" began Michael. "The Lard's, faither." "Ay: the Lard's awn day, though you've forgot it seemin'ly." "No I abbun, faither." "Doan't 'e answer me 'cept I tells you to.
Shaw no mercy, God o' Heaven, but pile agony 'pon agony mountains high for en; an' let mine be the hand to send his cussed sawl to hell, for Christ's sake, Amen!" "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Braave prayin'! Braave savor for the Lard's nose sweeter than the blood o' beasts.
At length she addressed him, still panting between the syllables. "My heart's a pit-pat! Hurry, hurry, for the Lard's sake! The bees be playin' an' they'll call Johnson if you ban't theer directly minute!" Playing = swarming. Johnson, a thatcher, was the only other man in Chagford who shared any knowledge of apiarian lore with Clement. "Sorry you should have had the journey only for that, mother.
Suddenly the keeper passed them at a trot. "Who'm they to combe-bottom for Lard's sake? Master'll be crazy," he said. "Poachers simly," Stalky replied in the broad Devon that was the boy's langue de guerre. "I'll poach 'em to raights!" He dropped into the funnel-like combe, which presently began to fill with noises, notably King's voice crying: "Go on, Sergeant! Leave him alone, you, sir.
"Us doan't want to knaw no more 'bout it," declared his mother after dinner was over. "You've laced en an' that's enough. You knaw what faither'll say. You did ought to fight no battle but the Lard's. Now clap this here over your eye for a bit, then be off with 'e."
"I hopes they're safe an' Emily's better, but th' Lard's been losin' track o' me," he said to himself with a wavering faith. "But th' Lard took me safe t' Ungava, an' He must be watchin' me," he exclaimed after further thought. "An' He's been rare good t' me."
But, hut!" he cried, with a laugh which yet rang strangely sad in my ears, "'tis none o' my business. 'Twould be a queer thing, indeed, if men went pryin' into the Lard's secrets. He'd fix un, I 'low He'd snarl un all up He'd let un think theirselves wise an' guess theirselves mad! That's what He'd do.
'He that heareth let en hear, an' he that forbeareth let en forbear, for they are a rebellious house. An' what shall us do then? Theer was a man as builded a heydge around a guckoo, thinkin', poor fool, to catch the bird; but her flew off. That edn' the Lard's way.
"'Tis not hard, I'm sure the Lard's too kind for that. He just lets us think it is, so He can give us a lovely surprise, when the time comes. Oh, no, 'tis not hard! 'Tis but like wakin' up from a troubled dream. 'Tis like wakin' t' the sunlight of a new, clear day. Ah, 'tis a pity us all can't wake with you t' the beauty o' the morning! But the dear Lard is kind.
"She might like to come if her could get some o' the neighbors to bide along wi' Michael. He'm daft for all time, but 'tis said as he'll be childlike wi' it, thank God. I let en knaw 'bout the lass an' he rolled his head an' dropped his jaw, like to a feesh, an' said as 'tweern't no news to en. Which maybe it weern't, for the Lard's got His awn way wi' the idiot. The sayin's of en!
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