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Updated: June 1, 2025
Service ain't no inheritance; nor yet ain't wages, when they never amounts to more than twenty pounds a-year." "It's thirty, you false ungrateful beast!" said Mrs Baggett. But in the meantime Mr Whittlestaff had led the way into the garden, and John Gordon had followed him. Before they reached the hall-door, Mary Lawrie had met them.
He had heard of Mr Whittlestaff as the friend of her father, and nothing better he thought could have happened. But Mary might have been weak during his absence, and have given herself up to some other man who had asked for her hand. She was still, at heart, Mary Lawrie. So much had been made known to him.
Such is the catalogue of Mary Lawrie's features, drawn out with care by one who has delighted for many hours to sit and look at them. All the power of language which the writer possesses has been used in thus reproducing them. But now, when this portion of his work is done, he feels sure that no reader of his novel will have the slightest idea of what Mary Lawrie was like.
"What on earth it is they sees in 'em, is what I never can understand. She ain't pretty, not to say, and she looks as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. But she's got it inside her, and some of them days it'll come out." Then Mrs Baggett determined that she would have a few words on the subject with Mary Lawrie.
For besides these two, the Pathologist and the Forest Supervisor, there was "Silent Lawrie" Lindsley, naturalist, photographer, and lover of all that is wild, a young man who has spent years wandering through the mountains around Chelan, camera and gun at hand, the gun never raised against the wild creatures, but used to shoot away tree-branches that interfere with pictures, or, more frequently, to trim a tree into such outlines as fit it into the photograph.
Lawrie would have then represented his club. After giving up active duty in the field, he has rendered noble service by being president of the Scottish Football Association, and loves the game as dearly as ever. ~Harry M'Neil.~ The first final cup tie brought into prominence one of the neatest little dribblers and passers that ever played on the left wing of any club.
He had not even suggested the idea to Mrs Baggett, and was sure that Mrs Baggett would not approve. As to sending Mary Lawrie out into the world as a governess; that plan he was quite sure would not answer. Two years ago had died his best beloved friend, Captain Patrick Lawrie. With him we have not anything to do, except to say that of all men he was the most impecunious.
During the last two years, however, there had been enough of discussion about Mary Lawrie to convince Mrs Baggett that, in regard to this "interloper," as Mrs Baggett had once called her, Mr Whittlestaff intended to have his own way. Such being the case, Mrs Baggett was most anxious to know whether the young lady was such as she could love.
The bride was pale, but strikingly calm and self-possessed, and when she moved towards the door as Mrs. Lawrie, on her husband's arm, many matrons, recalling their own experience, marvelled at her unflurried dignity. Just as they passed out the door, and the bridal carriage was summoned, a singular thing happened.
They were still intently watching the birds, when they were aroused by the voice of the doctor, which had also the effect of startling the beautiful creatures. Away flew the birds, the doctor, however, catching a glimpse of them. "Oh, what a pity you did not come sooner!" exclaimed Alice. "Had I done so, I should have deprived you of the pleasure of watching the birds," answered Mr Lawrie.
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