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Updated: June 8, 2025
It is no wonder he did not succeed as farmer; Moss-giel had an ugly, wet subsoil, and draining-tiles were as yet not in vogue; but from all the accounts I can gather, there was never a truer furrow laid than was laid by Robert Burns in his days of vigor, upon that same damp upland of Moss-giel; his "fearings" were all true, and his headlands as clear of draggled sod as if he had used the best "Ruggles, Nourse, and Mason" of our time.
And although he had many relapses, when night after night he would sit by the table planning more horrible "junk for the Bronx," with an inner smile she saw how often her husband scowled at such labour now. She heard of changes in the office. "We 're still building junk," Nourse confided one day, "but it isn't quite as bad as before.
I am afraid, sir," continued he, "the masts will be over the side, if we do not clew up the royals." "Stop a moment, if you please, Mr Nourse, until I go up and judge for myself," replied the captain, who was inclined to be pertinacious. Captain Carrington went on deck.
Ethel gave a frank little smile. "I didn't but that was a year ago. And besides, he didn't like me, you see. But people do change, I suppose and as long as he means so much to you, I should so like to be friendly." It turned out just as she had expected. Nourse declined the invitation. "I'm sorry," she said when her husband told her. She felt her position strengthened a bit.
It was not the mere plan that excited her, she was giving small heed to the details. But this had in it what she had craved ever since she had come to the city beauty and creative work and this had been in Joe's "business"! "There was only one point against it," she heard Nourse saying presently. "Those terraces took a lot of space. Each one meant so much rent was lost.
But the other woman had noticed it and shot a little look at her. "You poor girl. I can't tell you how sorry I feel," she was saying. "It's horrible. Tell me about it." And Ethel in a lifeless voice recounted the tragedy of the night. "Where's Joe?" "In there, with his partner." "Oh, Mr. Nourse. He would be." Mrs. Carr threw a glance of dislike at the door.
"But look here," she said emphatically. "I'm a rich girl I'm very well off and I certainly propose to sing! I used to, in the choir at home and I was told I had quite a voice! And I meant to take lessons in New York of a tall dark man with curly hair " "Dwight," said Nourse, "is fair and fat." "Never mind. Then he probably has blue eyes. And they twinkle at you in the friendliest way "
The Main, built for Mr. James Nourse, of London, is a good specimen of their 1,700 ton ship, as designed for the special trade of the owner, between Calcutta, Demerara, and London. Their 1,300 ton bark is represented by the model of the Aboukir Bay and her sisters of the Bay Line, owned by Messrs.
I'm here now, and I'll be on their side!" He frowned, and she cried impatiently, "You don't believe me, do you! You don't believe I can do anything or even that I want to!" He looked at her for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I almost do." "Then please give me a chance," she said, very low. And by her eager questions she began to draw out of Nourse the information she wanted.
I am afraid, sir," continued he, "the masts will be over the side if we do not clew up the royals." "Stop a moment, if you please, Mr Nourse, until I go up and judge for myself," replied the captain, who was inclined to be pertinacious. Captain Carrington went on deck.
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