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Updated: May 21, 2025
Perched upon the crest of one of these half-submerged rocks, watching the mad waves fling themselves exhausted at her feet, it was Mysie's delight to sit, enjoying the half danger of her position, and retreating only when the waters had many times closed behind her throne, leaving, in their momentary absence, but a wet and slippery path back to the beach.
He never mentioned his longings and visions to anyone, yet Mysie's sweet, shy face was creeping into them always, and already he was conscious of something in her that thrilled him. He was awkward, and his speech did not come readily, in her presence. Whole days he dreamed, only waking up to find it was "knocking-off" time.
One must be thirteen, with a dash of the sentiment of a budding friendship, to enter into all that 'sitting by' involves; and in Mysie's case, here was her compassionate promise standing not only between her and the avowed preference of one so charming as Fly, but possibly depriving her of the chances of the wonders of the Butterfly's Ball.
She felt sure that her mother was far more acceptable to her hostess than either of the aunts, and that, indeed, she might well be so! Gillian's first feeling was like Mysie's in the morning, that nothing could go wrong with her again, but she must perforce have patience before she could be heard.
He shifted uneasily, his senses all acutely alert to pick up even Mysie's faint gasp of shame, as the hot blood suffused her face. Would she choose him before all these others? He hoped she wouldn't, and he tried to summon a smile to hide his uneasiness. Still Mysie hesitated. She wanted to choose Robert, but if she did, perhaps the other boys and girls would tease them afterwards.
I would not have my reader suppose that Mysie's mind was corrupted. It was so simple and childlike, leaning to what was pure, and looking up to what was noble, that anything directly bad in the books she happened for it was all haphazard to read, glided over her as a black cloud may glide over a landscape, leaving it sunny as before.
"No, Mysie's no' coorse," admitted his mother; "but Mysie didna work very lang on the pit-head. An' forby, we dinna ken but what Mysie micht hae been better if she had never been near it, or worse if she had stayed langer. Just look at Susan Morton, an' that Mag Lindsay.
"Puir thing," she wailed and crooned, again breaking out after having kissed and fondled Mysie's wet face. "We hae lang hungered for you hungered for you for a gey lang time, an' noo you hae cam' hame, near to daith's door. But we'll nurse you back. We'll mak' you strong and healthy again. Oh, Mysie, my puir lassie. What ails you? Where hae you been? What has happened to you a' this time?
While Ericson told the story the room still glimmered about Robert as if all its light came from Mysie's face, upon which the flickering firelight alone played. Mr.
But Mysie's tongue gaed fully fester than her wires, an' I'd raither the better o' her. She forgot a' aboot her intaks, an' had her stockin' leg a guid bit ower lang when she cam' to the tnot on her wirsit. "A thochtless body's aye thrang," said the Gairner's wife, as Mysie began to tak' doon what she'd wrocht. "Toot ay," said Mysie.
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