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Updated: June 1, 2025
Indoors sweet corn was boiling in the same pot with new potatoes, while in an improvised milk-boiler on coals, at one side of the fireplace, peas were simmering. The table was spread, and there was white bread and jersey butter and raspberries. Adam, with Lassie's puppies crawling over him, sat in the doorway, and watched Robin put the finishing touches to their Sunday dinner.
On a day when the local philanthropy market was slack, and Miss Holland, seated in the Bonnie Lassie's front window, was maturing some new and benign outrage upon our sensibilities, she called out to the sculptress at work on a group: "There's a queer man making queer marks on your sidewalk." "That's Peter Quick Banta. He's a fellow artist."
"If I were ance at Lunnon," said Jeanie, in exculpation, "I am amaist sure I could get means to speak to the queen about my sister's life." "Lunnon and the queen and her sister's life!" said Dumbiedikes, whistling for very amazement "the lassie's demented."
In this area it was one lassie's first bombardment; it came suddenly and without warning. The soldiers in the hut decamped without ceremony for the safety of their dugouts. One soldier who had been detailed to help the lassie, shouted: "Come on! Follow me to your dugout!" Without further talk he turned and started for cover. The girl had been baking.
Bobby refused to eat at first, but by and by he thought better of it. A little dog that has his life to live and his work to do must have fuel to drive the throbbing engine of his tiny heart. So Bobby very sensibly ate a good supper in the lassie's company and, grateful for that and for her sympathy, submitted to her shy petting.
"He objected, of course. At first, I told him everything. He had always let me go to any and all religious gatherings without objection. He even laughingly told me I could don the Salvation lassie's bonnet and beat a drum in the street, if I wanted to; but when it came to the 'Mormons, O, he was angry, and forbade me from ever going to their meetings or reading their literature.
My aunt has told me that she did not cry; aunt Fanny would have been thankful if she had; but she sat holding the poor wee lassie's hand and looking in her pretty, pale, dead face, without so much as shedding a tear. And it was all the same, when they had to take her away to be buried. When my aunt came back from the funeral, she found my mother in the same place, and as dry-eyed as ever.
Are you no sure that there isna something of that kind, something no right in the gloom beyond there?" "Neal's in it," said Una, "what's to frighten me?" "Ay, sure enough, he's there, the poor bairn. Lord save us, and keep us! The lassie's intil the water, and it up ower her head, and she's drownded.
The lassie's fair aff her heid, and nae wonder, for he's a fine mak' o' a man." "And a good one, I hope?" interjected Count Victor. "Humph!" said Mungo. "I thocht that wasna laid muckle stress on in France. He's a takin' deevil, and the kind's but middlin' morally, sae far as I had ony experience o' them.
The records of the work in that hut would be precious reading for the fathers and mothers of those boys, for the Fighting Eighteenth Infantry are mostly gone, having laid their young lives on the altar with so many others. Here is a bit from one lassie's letter, giving a picture of one of her days in the hut: "Well, I must tell you how the days are spent.
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