Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 19, 2025
It was terrible, so he reflected, to know that, even if Nan should live the life of a saint from the hour of her child's birth until the hour of her death, a half-century hence, yet would she fail to atone for her single lapse while there still lived one who knew and remembered. He, Donald McKaye, might live down a natural son, but Nan Brent could not.
Gladly, eagerly, it seemed to Hector McKaye, his son was assuming his heritage, casting aside, without one longing backward glance, a brighter, busier, and more delightful world. Although his son's new arena of action was beautiful and The Laird loved it with a passionate love, he was sufficiently imaginative to realize that, in Port Agnew, Donald might not be as happy as had been his father.
"But you're not going to take a chance on his pulling through, in the face of the advice of the doctors that only the girl's presence can stimulate him to a desire to live. I tell you, Hector McKaye, man, he's dying because he is not interested in living." "God's will be done, Andrew.
His voice dropped several octaves, but the words came to the listeners none the less distinctly. "Be brave, sweetheart." Mrs. McKaye glanced at her husband in time to see him avert his face; she noted how he clutched the arm of his chair. To quote a homely phrase, the cat was out of the bag at last. Donald's face wore a troubled expression as he reentered the living-room. His mother spoke first.
He broke off, wiping his eyes, moist now with the pressure of his emotions, and while he was wiping them, Mrs. McKaye and her daughters exchanged frightened glances. Elizabeth's penchant for ill-timed humor disappeared; she stood, alert and awed, biting her lip. Jane's eyebrows went up in quick warning to her mother, who paled and flushed alternately.
Ah, lad, if you only knew the terrible four years I've paid for yon red-cedar!" "You mean the suspense of not knowing how I was spending my allowance?" The Laird nodded. "Curiosity killed a cat, my son, and I'm not as young as I used to be." "I had thought you'd have read the accounting in my eye. Take another look, Hector McKaye." And Donald thrust his smiling countenance close to his father's.
Nan looked in on her lover for a minute, and then hurried away on the plea that her baby was locked in at the Sawdust Pile, in the absence of some one to care for him; she had the usual maternal presentiment that he was playing with matches. As she was going out she met The Laird and Mrs. McKaye coming in. Old Hector lifted his hat and said quite heartily: "How do you do, my dear girl.
"Good morning, Mrs. McKaye. Thank you. I shall with pleasure." He followed her down the little hallway to the living room where Donald sat with his great thin legs stretched out toward the fire. "Don't rise, boy, don't rise," Mr. Daney protested. "I merely called to kiss the bride and shake your hand, my boy. The visit is entirely friendly and unofficial." "Mr.
And when the house-flag fluttered half-way to the deck and climbed again to the masthead, the soul of Hector McKaye would thrill. "Guid lads! My bonny brave lads!" he would murmur aloud, with just a touch of his parents' accent, and press a button which discharged an ancient brass cannon mounted at the edge of the cliff.
"You said it in anger?" "Yes." Very softly. "Daney had come to you with an offer of monetary reward for your invaluable services to the McKaye family, had he not? And since what you did was not done for profit, you were properly infuriated and couldn't resist giving Daney the scare of his life? That was the way of it, was it not?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking