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He belong to Sam Ritchie five or six miles away. I never beard much about them. They had Negro overseers. Papa was a foreman. He tanned the cow hides and made shoes for all the hands on Ritchie's place. He made our shoes over there too. They said Stevens and Ritchies didn't keep bad dogs. Mistress Eliza Ritchie was a Stevens before she married. Papa never was sold. He said they was good to them.
Ritchie's grandfather was a Scottish earl," said Nick, immediately, a piece of news that startled me into protest. "It is true, Davy, though you may not know it," he added. "And you, Monsieur?" she said to Nick. "I am his cousin, is it not honor enough?" said he. "Yet you do not resemble one another." "Mr. Ritchie has all the good looks in the family," said Nick.
There was also some salted water-buffalo meat, a Chinese dish with which the young missionary was destined to become very familiar. They started out three abreast, Mr. Ritchie's blue serge figure capped by a white helmet on the right, Dr. Dickson on the left in his Scotch tweed, and between them the alert, slim figure of the newcomer, in his suit of Canadian gray.
Ritchie's directions, had been removed, that the remedies might be more conveniently applied, and the heated blankets the sooner infuse a vital glow through the storm-beaten frame.
In passing round the north-west extremity of the continent we delayed, again endeavouring to get sight of Ritchie's Reef; but, on this occasion, as on our passage from the Victoria to Swan River, it was not seen, and as no bottom was obtained with 200 and 240 fathoms in its assigned position on the chart, it must either have a very different one or does not exist.
Although our exploration in this neighbourhood did not lead to our finding any of the land fertile, yet from the new feature our chart will give to this part of the coast, the necessity of the Beagle's visit will be evident. Our object had been satisfactorily attained, inasmuch as we had cleared up the doubts respecting Ritchie's Reef, and the long-lost Tryal Rocks.
We enjoyed his visit greatly. Agnes and I rode down to the Baths last Saturday to see the Harrisons, and returned Sunday evening. They were well, and somewhat benefited by their visit. Mr. George Ritchie's death no doubt threw a shade of sadness over the whole party on Mrs. Harrison's account, though all were charming and Miss Belle very sweet.
"He is Alec Ritchie's son," she said, "and Alec has gone against Cameron." Mr. Lowndes did not answer, but nodded. "And must he go to Temple Bow?" "My dear," said Mr. Lowndes, "I fear it is our duty to send him there." In the morning I started for Temple Bow on horseback behind one of Mr. Lowndes' negroes. Good Mrs.
"Well, it seems that, while I was helping Timmy Finbrink out of his difficulties, and afterwards tried to fool you with the fake window-breaking, some of the Central fellows had been down at Ritchie's playing tick-tack on one of his front windows. Tick-tack is a stupid game, and it got me into a mess that night. "It seems that Mr.
"Where is your husband now? I understood from your note that he was with you." "He rode over to Dr. Ritchie's this morning, directly he had given me my breakfast. He thinks highly of his skill, and he would not be contented without bringing him to see me. I really believe he is anxious I should get well! Strange isn't it? when I am such a burden upon his mind and hands." Aunt Rachel smiled.
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