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Updated: May 16, 2025
Then was the time for stories; and often in the long dark, while yet it was hours too early for bed, would Ginevra go with Nicie, who was not much of a raconteuse, to the kitchen, to get one of the other servants to tell her an old tale. For even in his own daughter and his own kitchen, the great laird could not extinguish the accursed superstition.
Scattergood remained quite composed in her small, compact way. "What's what all about, Nan, dear?" asked Sally Warner in her most vivacious manner. She keenly felt the dramatic situation and was already visualizing herself in the role of raconteuse. "You know perfectly well. Why this funeral? Where are they all? Why did they stay away? I have a right to know."
The great letter upon the cheek of the Muggletonian turned a deeper red, and his eyes burned. The youth was curious. "Tell us all about it, Margery," he said, coaxingly, "and when the millons are ripe, I'll steal you one every night." Margery was nothing loth. She had attained the reputation of an accomplished raconteuse, and she was proud of it.
I cannot imagine anything less like the enlightened methods of the best kindergarten teaching. Had Mrs. R. B. Smith been a real, and not a fictional, person, it would certainly have been her last appearance as a raconteuse in this educational institution.
Pennybet standing below, her skirts held up in one hand, a small cane in the other. "Come down, Archie," she said. "Come down." "Not a bit of it," replied her son. "You come up!" At least Mrs. Pennybet, a vivacious raconteuse, always declared to me that such was his reply. I do not trust these mothers, however, and regard it as a piece of her base embroidery.
And Richard's continued and undismayed acquiescence in his physical misfortune was fostered, indirectly, by the captivating poetry of myth and legend with which his mind was fed. He had an insatiable appetite for stories, and Mademoiselle de Mirancourt was an untiring raconteuse.
Mrs Garnett lay back in her chair with the contented air of a raconteuse who has deftly led up to a denouement, and her audience gasped in mingled surprise and curiosity. "How thrilling! How weird!" "What an extraordinary thing! Go on! Go on! And what happened next?" Mrs Garnett chuckled contentedly. "I met your father, married him, and lived happily ever after!
"A fish," ventured Eddy Brown, whose eye fell upon the aquarium in the corner. The raconteuse smiled patiently. "Now, how could a fish, a live fish, get into my front yard?" "A dead fish," says Eddy. He had never been known to relinquish voluntarily an idea. "No; it was a little kitten," said the story-teller decidedly. "A little white kitten. She was standing right near a big puddle of water.
Oldham smiled, well pleased at the tribute to her powers as a raconteuse. "Well, there isn't much to tell. I've forgotten the details, and they were so romantic, too; but Mr. Oldham seriously considered buying it." "And did he buy it?" Hayden's hands were trembling in spite of himself. "This is so intensely interesting, one would like to hear the conclusion of the story." But Mrs.
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