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Updated: June 24, 2025
She spoke very far down in her throat, and with a rising inflection in each sentence. "I'm going to have a quarrel with you, Mr. Willett, for not telling me what a delightful surprise you had for us here. Oh, but I'd no idea of it, I assure you!" "Well, I'm glad you like it, Mrs. Macallister," said Mr. Willett, with the clumsiness of American middle-age when summoned to say something gallant.
Oh, and Mr. Macallister." Bartley bowed to the Willett and Witherby ladies, and shook hands with Mr. Witherby, a large, solemn man, with a purse-mouth and tight rings of white hair, who treated him with the pomp inevitable to the owner of a city newspaper in meeting a country editor. At the mention of his name, Mr.
"Well, well," she said at last, very gently, "you and Charles Stuart would be too young to be thinking of such things for a wee while, lovey. But, indeed, it's Mother MacAllister prays every day that you may both be led to serve the dear Master no matter where He places you. Eh, eh, yes indeed, my lassie."
As for the election, you and I may be thankful we don't live over harbor. The air there is blue these days. Every Elliott and Crawford and MacAllister is on the warpath, loaded for bear. This side is peaceful and calm, seeing there's so few men. Captain Jim's a Grit, but it's my opinion he's ashamed of it, for he never talks politics.
"Mother wants me to be a minister, but I think I'd rather be a horse-doctor." Elizabeth looked dubious. She did not like to differ from Mother MacAllister, but she could not see how it would be possible to make anything like a minister out of such an uncomfortable, hair-pulling stone-thrower as Charles Stuart. "You'd best be a horse-doctor, Charles Stuart," she advised wisely.
"It's a ridge of rocks on the bluff above here," said Bartley, nodding his head vaguely towards the bank. "And how do you get to it?" asked Mrs. Macallister, pointing her pretty chin at him in lifting her head to look. "Walk." "Thanks, then; I shall try to be satisfied with me own backbone," said Mrs.
Mighty different stripe from that Montreal woman that cut up so that night." "Oh, Mrs. Macallister wasn't such a scamp, after all," said Bartley, with magnanimity. "Well, sir, you can say so. I ain't going to be too strict with a girl; but I like to see a married woman act like a married woman. Now, I don't think you'd catch Mrs.
Charles Stuart MacAllister was without doubt the horridest, horridest boy that ever lived and she would never speak to him again no, not if she lived to be two hundred and went over to his place every Saturday for a thousand years. Just see if she would! As she passed an alder clump and caught a glimpse of her aunt standing near the garden gate talking with Mr.
She was beginning to understand fully. "There's mair folk than ah can name that's jist wearyin' to tak the bairn. There's Tom Teeter " "But granny could never give her proper care, auntie, and it wouldn't be right to burden her." "Weel, there's Noah Clegg, an' there's yer ain Mother MacAllister, aye, an' there's Jinit Martin, tae. We've a braw hoose ower by yonder, jist wearyin' to be filled.
But one morning Worden perceived a strange commotion on the "Nashville;" and, looking carefully through his glass, he saw that she was aground. Now was his time; and at once he pushed forward to a point twelve hundred yards from her, and directly under the guns of Fort MacAllister. From this point he began a deliberate fire upon the doomed privateer.
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