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Updated: June 17, 2025
But what pleased him perhaps more than everything else, was a jack-knife from Edward Torrey with the words, "To the forgiving boy," marked on the inside of the pasteboard box. Old Mrs. Grant had not forgotten to add her gift, which was a pair of warm mittens, done up with a nice, knit comforter from Mary Jerrold Monsey. Altogether it was a great success, and everybody felt very happy.
"I never heeard on it, then." "Old Wilson must have had money on him that night," said Monsey, who had been looking gravely into the fire, his hands clasped about his knees. Encouraged by this support of the sapient idea he had hinted at, the shepherd who had spoken before broke in with, "Where else did he get it I say?" "Ye breed of the cuckoo," said Matthew, "ye've gat no rhyme but yan."
Monsey jumped, with a scream, out of his seat as though stung by an adder. Ralph looked at him for a moment with an expression of pity. "I might have known you were timid at heart, schoolmaster. Perhaps you're gallant over a glass." There could be no doubt of little Monsey's timidity. All his jests had forsaken him. Sim had seen the gesture that expressed horror at contact even with his clothes.
"I can't see them," said Robbie, and he jumped down again into the road. "Oh, but you will, you will," said Monsey; and stretching his arm out towards Ralph with a frantic gesture, he cried, "You fly, fly, fly, fly!" "Allow me to point out to you," observed Ralph, smiling, "that I do not at all fly, nor shall I know why I should not remain where I am until you tell me."
"Dus'ta mind the fratch thoo telt me aboot atween Angus and auld Wilson?" said Reuben Thwaite to Matthew Branthwaite. "What quarrel was that?" asked Monsey. "Why, the last fratch of all, when Wilson gat the sneck posset frae Shoulthwaite," said Matthew. "I never heard of it," said the schoolmaster. "There's nowt much to hear.
"And when the auld one did get strucken, he could not shriek," added Reuben. "We know nowt of that reetly," said Matthew, "and maybe nivver will." "What was that about a warrant?" said Monsey. "Nay, nay, laal man, that's mair ner ony on us knows for certain." "But ye have a notion on it, have ye not?" said Reuben, with a twinkle which was intended to flatter Matthew into a communicative spirit.
He was clearly thinking out the grave problems attaching to the place of dogs on this universe. "Didn't I hear my name awhile ago?" said a voice from behind the door. The head of the speaker emerged presently. It was Monsey Laman. He had been banished with the "old folks." "Come your ways in, schoolmaster," cried Robbie Anderson. "Who says 'yes' to a bout of play-acting?"
"So, so, that's the fell the wind blows frae!" "Blow low, my black feutt," answered Monsey, "and don't blab." "When the whins is oot of blossom, kissing's oot o' fashion nowt will come of it," replied the sage on reflection. "Wrong again, great Solomon!" said Monsey. "Ralph is not the man to put away the girl because her father is in disgrace." "Do ye know he trystes with the lass?" "Not I."
"But don't they say Ralph saved Wilson's life away at the wars?" said Monsey. "Why could he want to inform against him and have him hanged?" "A dog winnet yowl an ye hit him with a bone, but a spy is worse ner ony dog," answered Matthew sententiously. "But why could he wish to do it?" "His fratch with Angus, that was all." "There must have been more than that, Matthew, there must."
Matthew Branthwaite, Monsey Laman, and Reuben Thwaite were among the dozen or more dalesmen who left the procession at this point.
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