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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Never till the sun was beneath the western wave," said MacEagh. "Then, my friend, we shall have three hours good," said the cautious Captain. "In the meantime, let us labour for your liberation." To examine Ranald's chain was the next occupation.
Ranald's heart sank. "But come along, we will find something." As they passed in front of the little French shops, with windows filled inside and out with ready-made garments, Ranald paused to investigate. "Oh! pshaw," cried Harry, "don't know what you'll get here.
He began by giving a detailed and graphic account of his trip through the province, lighting up the narrative with incidents of adventure, both tragic and comic, to such good purpose that before he had finished his hearers had forgotten all their anger. Then he told of what he had seen of Ranald's work, emphasizing the largeness of the results he had obtained with his very imperfect equipment.
Some time after Ranald's appearance in the Institute as an assistant, it happened one night that a sudden illness of the superintendent laid upon his shoulders the responsibility of government. The same night it also happened that Coley saw fit to introduce the enlivening but quite impromptu feature of a song and dance.
"He thinks it is a very queer way of lumbering, and the wages he considers excessive." "Does he say that?" asked Kate. "That's just what Colonel Thorp says his company are saying. But he stands up for Ranald even when he can't see that his way is the best. The colonel is not very sure about Ranald's schemes for the men, his reading-room, library, and that sort of thing.
There he compelled him, at sword's point, to sing, to him and his housecarles the Milesian version of the great historical event: and when the harper, in fear and trembling, came to the story of Ranald's own death at Brian Boru's hands, then the jolly old Viking laughed till the tears ran down his face; and instead of cutting off Teague's head, gave him a cup of goodly wine, made him his own harper thenceforth, and bade him send for his wife and children, and sing to him every day, especially the song of Clontarf and his own death; treating him very much, in fact, as English royalty, during the last generation, treated another Irish bard whose song was even more sweet, and his notions of Irish history even more grotesque, than those of Teague MacMurrough.
"Too much philanthropy," said the colonel, bluntly; "the British-American Coal and Lumber Company ain't a benevolent society exactly." "I am glad you spoke of that, Colonel Thorp; I want to ask you about some things that I don't understand. I know that the company are criticising some of Ranald's methods, but don't know why exactly." "Now, Colonel," cried Kate, "stand to your guns."
Ranald's last stump was a pine of medium size, whose roots were partly burned away. It looked like an easy victim. Aleck's was an ugly-looking little elm. Ranald thought he would try his first pull without the use of the ax.
Murray snugly tucked in for the night, she sat with Ranald's open letter in her hand, reading it till she almost knew it by heart.
It was Bugle, and after him came Mrs. Murray on the pony. "Oh, Ranald!" she panted, "thank God you are safe. I was afraid you you " Her voice broke in sobs. Her hood had fallen back from her white face, and her eyes were shining like two stars. She laid her hand on Ranald's arm, and her voice grew steady as she said: "Thank God, my boy, and thank you with all my heart.
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