Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 19, 2025
Rougeant," said Jacques on the Monday morning, as he perceived his employer walking about the farmyard. "Good-morning, Jacques," responded the farmer. "Your foot is better then?" said the workman, eager to commence the conversation, for Mr. Rougeant was already moving in a contrary direction. "Yes, it's quite better now," replied the farmer, arresting his steps.
"Here, in my hand?" said the child. "We shall suppose the little bird did so," answered Mr. Rougeant. "It passed this way, and the thumb caught it." "Ah-ha," laughed little Adèle. "This finger plucked its feathers, this one cooked it, and this one ate it." Frank made some remark. Mr. Rougeant looked up.
Rougeant, his eyes fixed on the grate: "You will tell him to be as quick as he can about mending them; I mean to walk in a few days." "All right, Sir." "I don't want anything expensive; in fact, I want him to mend them as cheaply as he possibly can. But, you understand, I want him to repair them well." "A good job costs money," Jacques ventured to interpose.
"I will ask him if he knows where the child lives," he was saying to himself, when the little girl exclaimed: "Ah! there's 'ma; look, she's looking frough the window." "'Ma;" she cried, "I've had a ride." Mr. Rougeant looked round. So this was where the child lived. He descended from the phaeton holding the little girl in his arms and stood confronting his daughter. They recognized each other.
"Ah! doubtless he was surprised at seeing you in such company." "Why?" she questioned. "Perhaps he is afraid of losing caste," said Frank, anxious to know the cause of Tom's sullen countenance. Adèle laughed; "Losing caste!" she said, "the idea is preposterous." "Miss Rougeant," said Frank, suddenly becoming grave, "do you want to oblige me?" She looked up. "Of course I do," she replied.
The great plough the only feast of the year that is worth anything, mutton and roast beef, ham and veal, cider by the gallon and a jovial company of good old sons of the soil. "It is horrible thus to see our old routine trampled underfoot, our ancestors' customs sneered at." Mr. Rougeant was extremely animated. Like nearly every other country Guernseyman, he was opposed to change.
Rougeant was panting for breath, and exhausted, but saved from a watery grave. Frank bent over the man he had rescued, dried his face and took off his boots, examining him meanwhile. Mr. Rougeant, whom we did not describe when we first met him, was a man of medium height. He had broad shoulders, a powerful chest, an almost square head and a formidable nose.
"Where's Miss Rougeant?" questioned Jacques. "Rummaging the house; do you want to speak to her?" "My wife told me that there was a long time she had not seen her. She says she is lonely and would very much like to see Miss Rougeant.
Rougeant again bent towards the child: "Where do you live?" he questioned. "Vere," said the child with such a vague wave of the hand that any of the three corners of the island might have been implicated in her childish, "There." "But where is it. Down that way" pointing with his finger, "or up that way."
Said Frank inly: "Jim Tozer, the name seems familiar to me. Of course, my step-mother's brother." Aloud: "You are the only workman here now!" "Yes, you've been payin' a visit to Mr. Rougeant, you're the gentleman as rescued him from drowning. Lucky for him, old chap, that you were round about there, for it's dead certain he'd ha' gone to bottom." "You take care of this horse?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking