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But the sea's never twa days the same. Even lauchin' she never lauchs twise wi' the same face, an' whan she sulks, she has a hunner w'ys o' sulkin'." "And how would you get a carriage up here?" said the marquis. "Fine that, my lord. There's a ro'd up as far's yon neuk.
"But whaur are ye for sae ear, Miss Elsie?" "I'm for the Muir o' Warlock, to see my sister, the schuilmaister's wife. Puir man! he's been ailin' ever sin' the spring. I little thoucht I was to hae sic guid company upo' the ro'd! Ye hae made an unco differ upo' my father, Mr. Warlock. I never saw man sae altert. In ae single ook!"
The driver, a French-Canadian turned and displayed an appreciative grin. "Eet ban de ro'd vat you saw de re," he explained, pointing his whip to the thoroughfare they were pursuing. "This a road?" demanded Jerrard, with indignation. "Oui, eet ban a tote-road."
He aye lost sicht o' them whan they wan to the edge o' the scaur, but roon' they aye cam again upo' the ither side, as gien there had been a ro'd whaur there wasna even a ledge.
A prayer i' the hert 's sure to fin' the ro'd oot. The hert's the last place 'at can haud ane in. She turned and left him. Comforted by her words, he followed her back into the kitchen, and sat down beside her. "Gibbie 'ill be here mayhap whan least ye luik for him," said Janet. Neither of them caught the wild eager gleam that lighted the face of the strange woman at those last words of Janet.
It would be easy enough to sign that paper and then go away and do as I like. But I am not going to lie to you even for a moment. The paper would be worthless in court." "It ain't a paper that's goin' into court," Ward retorted. "It's a paper by which you agree to get out of here. It's you an' me. It just means that ro'd shan't be built."
In the afternoon came his lordship, desiring an interview with the laird; which, not a little against his liking, the laird granted. "Set ye doon, my lord," said Grizzie, "an' rist yer shins. The ro'd atween this an' the ludge, maun be slithery."
'I maun hae my horse; there's nae co'ch till the morn's mornin. 'Gangna near the place. My father 'ill gie ye the gray mear no an ill are ava! She'll tak ye there in four or five hoors, as ye ride. Only, min' and gie her a pickle corn ance, and meal and watter twise upo' the ro'd. Gien ye seena the animal yere sure 'ill please her, gang further, and comena hame wantin 't. When Mrs.
She better write them a bit letter, an' tell them she's fa'en in wi' an auld acquaintance, a lass ca'd Agnes Gracie, a dacent yoong wuman, an' haein' lost her ro'd an' bein' unco tired, she's gaein' hame wi' her to sleep; an' the laird o' Glenwarlock was sae kin' 's to sen' his man upo' his horse to cairry the letter. That w'y there'll be nae lees tellt, an' no ower muckle o' the trowth."
Deith canna weel be muckle like onything we think aboot it; but there maun surely be a heap o' fowk unco dreary an' fusionless i' the warl' deith taks us til; an' the mair I think aboot it, the mair likly it seems we'll hae a heap to du wi' them a sair wark tryin' to lat them ken what they are, an' whaur they cam frae, an' hoo they maun gang to win hame for deith can no more be yer hame nor a sair fa' upo' the ro'd be yer bed.
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