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Updated: June 12, 2025
Only this afternoon, Rogerson, the new under-gardener, asked me to keep him on, and Hicks said he'd serve me as faithfully as he'd served the old Squire. How could I face the servants when they knew the Chase wasn't mine after all! The humiliation would be intolerable! No! I've all the Ingleton pride in me, and if I'm not to be master here, I'll shake the dust of the place off my feet for ever.
There were Rogerson and Cutlaw; there was Tom Sibby, the procuress. Mald also, a withered malignant old wife, who had once blighted a year's increase by her dealing with the devil. Here was stuff for gallows, pit and pillory, all dropping-ripe for the trick. He looked sideways at the great lady as he spoke of this creature, and saw that all was going exactly as he would wish it.
Rogerson and Willett were there; Willett was seedy. Another Englishman named Hamilton, who had an umbrella which he had sworn to take back with him to England. Also two Austro-Serb boys who had been acting as interpreters. West and Mawson were not there. Rogerson said that Sir Ralph had sent them with Mrs. M to see the road and conditions at Mitrovitza; nobody knew when they would be back.
It is supposed that it struck a mine, but the tragedy very naturally brought into existence many stories which ascribe his death to more direct German action. Seaman Rogerson, one of the survivors, describes Lord Kitchener's last moments as follows: "Of those who left the ship, and have survived, I was the one who saw Lord Kitchener last. He went down with the ship, he did not leave her.
From such a home came our mother, Janet Jardine Rogerson, a bright-hearted, high-spirited, patient-toiling, and altogether heroic little woman; who, for about forty-three years, made and kept such a wholesome, independent, God-fearing, and self-reliant life for her family of five sons and six daughters, as constrains me, when I look back on it now, in the light of all I have since seen and known of others far differently situated, almost to worship her memory.
"Heaven in . . . Simon Fletcher's garret!" gasped Anne, too amazed even to laugh. "Davy Keith, whatever put such an extraordinary idea into your head?" "Milty Boulter says that's where it is. It was last Sunday in Sunday School. The lesson was about Elijah and Elisha, and I up and asked Miss Rogerson where heaven was. Miss Rogerson looked awful offended.
The vessel at the time was sailing under crowded canvas before a stiff sou'-westerly breeze. I kept low lest Rogerson should see me, but he was obviously more than half drunk, and was chiefly occupied in regarding his comrades with anything but a pleasant air.
She cried out to me, 'I am gone! I was struck with consternation. Mr. Rogerson was with them, on his horse, armed with pistols. I said to him, 'For God's sake, have you bought my wife? He said he had; when I asked him what she had done, he said she had done nothing, but that her master wanted money.
Perhaps the exertion of leaning over to do it flushed her face. There was more than the Rogerson colour in it, anyhow, and Louisa, slow though her mental processes might be in some respects, thought she understood the meaning of a blush as well as the next one. All the instinct of the matchmaker flamed up in her. "Indeed he isn't," she said promptly. "Peter Wright has never married.
What I held was but a poor patch compared to what the family held in my grandfather's time. A great part of it went out of our hands at his death." "It was very kind of you, Misther Rogerson, to offer to go security for him," said Frank; "but if security was wantin, sir, Id not be willin' to let anybody but myself back him.
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