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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Troth an' I'm not as sure ye'll do that same, onyhow; sure she'd not spend a week at home in the blessed year; and the divil another help in the house but mysel' and himsel', Mr. Slocum. A decent man is that same Slocum, too," pursues the maid, with a laconic indifference to the wants of the guest. A dusty hat-stand ornaments one side of the hall, a patched and somewhat deformed sofa the other.
They might tak' me, and do what they'n a mind wi' me, at their butcherin' shops. But her Here the strong man was swept by another convulsive storm of feeling too deep for utterance. Subduing his passion by a supreme effort of will, he continued: 'However, them as knows best says as it's her only chance, and I'm noan goin' agen it. I shall go daan wi' her mysel' to-morn.
You'll be a heart grief to me as long as you lie there; for I named you mysel', little thinking o' what would come o' it." For a few minutes she stood looking at the condemned and unfortunate boat in silence; then she turned and began to walk rapidly toward the nearest cluster of cottages. The sea fog was rolling in thick, with the tide, and the air was cold and keen.
And when his own sons were grown up to youths, one bound for the sea and the other for Marischal College, Aberdeen, he took them aside and told them this story, adding, "An' know this, my lads: the shame an' the sorrow cam a' o' ane thing I made light o' my mother's counsel, an' thought I could do what nane hae ever done, gather mysel' with the deil's journeymen, an' yet escape the wages o' sin.
Man, I've seen me gaen to the kirk wi' Bawbie sometimes, dressed in my sirtoo an' my lum, an' my gloves an' pocket-hankie, an' a'thing juist as snod's a noo thripenny bit, an', a' o' a sudden, I wud hae to pet my tongue atween my teeth, an' grip my umberell like's I was wantin' to chock it, juist to keep mysel' frae tumblin' a fleepy or a catma i' the middle o' the road amon' a' the kirk fowk, him hat, sirtoo, an' a'thegither.
Ha ha, my measter is a canny Newcassel shopkeeper, on t' Side. A reckon a've done pretty well for mysel', and a'll wish yo' as good luck, Sylvia. He's been married once, to be sure; but his childer are dead a' 'cept one; an' I don't mislike childer either; an' a'll feed 'em well, an' get 'em to bed early, out o' t' road. Mrs. Robson gave her her grave good wishes; but Sylvia was silent.
Of all men in the world we soldiers ought to know this." The sergeant spoke so earnestly, and his eyes withal looked so solemnly from their sunken sockets, that his friend could not help being impressed. "I believe ye're no' far wrang, serjint, an' I tak' shame to mysel' that I've been sic a harum-scarum sinner up to this time."
Tummas, what art tha talkin' about?" exclaimed Mrs. Hibblethwaite, who was mending at the other end of the room. "I heerd him say mysel, `Suppose th' story hadn't been true an' he was alive somewhere now, it'd make a big change, would na' it? An' he laughed." "I never heerd him," said Tummas, in stout denial. "Tha's losin' tha moind," commented his mother.
"Ben Weatherstaff," he answered, and then he added with a surly chuckle, "I'm lonely mysel' except when he's with me," and he jerked his thumb toward the robin. "He's th' only friend I've got." "I have no friends at all," said Mary. "I never had. My Ayah didn't like me and I never played with any one."
The invalid chuckled, until her old head in its white mob-cap nodded against the white pillow propping it. 'I married three men mysel' in my time, as you d' know; an' if either wan had been rich enough to leave me a pianner, I'd ha' married three more. . . . What tickles me is you men with your talk o' spoort.
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