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Two mile to my plaace from here and two mile from here to Grimsey, mak's four mile. Nay, I heered nowt!" "Of course you wouldn't, Dave! The light shone in at my window and woke me up, and we were all there working with buckets to put it out!" "Wucking wi' boockets!" said Dave slowly as he stared in the direction of Tallington's farm. "Hey, but I wish I'd been theer!" "I wish you had, Dave!"
Count Victor waved a deprecating hand. "Oh, I ken a' aboot what mak's ye sae suspicious," went on Mungo, undisturbed, "and it's a thing I could mak' clear to ye in a quarter-hour's crack if I had his leave. Tak' my word for't, there's no' a better man wi' his feet in brogues this day than the Baron o' Doom.
'I've sin th' birds pool th' daawn off their breasts to line th' nest for their young uns. And why shouldn't th' angels do th' same for us? Mi faither says as haa snow is th' earth's lappin', and keeps all th' seeds warm, and mak's th' land so as it 'll groo. So I thought happen it wur th' way God feathered aar nest for us. Dun yo' see? It's nobbud my fancy. 'And a beautiful fancy, too, Milly.
"An' if it's cholera, it's death;" and he let his hand fall heavily upon the table. "Ay," put in Mrs. Janner in a fretful wail, "fur they say as it's worse i' these parts than it is i' England th' heat mak's it worse an' here we are i' th' midst o' th' summer-toime, an' theer's no knowin' wheer it'll end. I wish tha'd takken my advice, Janner, an' stayed i' Lancashire.
Eh, I feel sure hoo's in heaven now, an' hoo's thinkin' o' me. I cannot tell ye how 'appy it mak's me." "Eye hath not seen," says St. Paul, "ear hath not heard." Very different was poor Mary's vision. Think of it: the little old woman in her working dress, with the sleeves rolled up on her skinny arms the "goldy rays, same as ye see on Christmas cards."
'Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's Howe, Where a' the sweets o' spring an' simmer grow: Between twa birks, out o'er a little lin, The water fa's an' mak's a singan din; A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, Kisses, wi' easy whirls, the bord'ring grass. The Gentle Shepherd.
Any dramatic incident, such as the refusal of Noah's wife to enter the ark, or Mak's thievery in The Play of the Shepherds, might serve as an Interlude. The Four P's, the most famous Interlude, shows a contest between a Pardoner, Palmer, Pedlar, and Poticary, to determine who could tell the greatest lie.
It's a deep wound, but it's a clean wound yet; cut off t' limb afore it begins to fester and poison t' whole body. And don't thee quarrel wi' him. He's a man now, and there hes to be a' mak's o' men to do t' world's work. Let Antony be; he'll mebbe be a credit to thee yet." "I don't believe, Whaley, thou understands what a sorrow this is to me."
I ken hoo to manage her. 'But wadna 't be better 'at she didna ken? 'She's sure to fin' oot whan she mak's the bed. 'De'il a bit o' her s' be a hair wiser! Ye dinna play tunes upo' the boxie, man. Robert caught at the idea.
An' if they canna mak' yer legs ower ye'll get a pair o' braw crutches that are the niest thing to gude legs. An' syne we'll see if there's no' a place in Heriot's for a sma' laddie that mak's up bonny tales o' his ain in the murky auld Cunzie Neuk." Now the gay little feast was eaten, and early dark was coming on. If Mr.
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