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Updated: June 20, 2025
She set out bravely the next day with Mrs. Forester and Blanche. Her heart beat very quickly as the carriage stopped at the post office. "Why, Mary Ann, if this is no Hunter's Marjory in the carriage with thae new folks frae Braeside," exclaimed Mrs. Smylie to her daughter as she saw the party arrive. "After a' I telt the leddy yesterday too." Marjory came into the post office alone.
Then the bishop and his staff proceeded to the end of the gallery and introduced a diocesan deputation, consisting of archdeacons and rural deans, who presented to Lothair a most uncompromising address, and begged his acceptance of a bible and prayer-book richly bound, and borne by the Rev. Dionysius Smylie on a cushion of velvet.
A writer of adventure stories for boys would be hard put to it to invent any situation more thrilling than that in which Squadron-Commander Richard Bell Davies, D.S.O., R.N., and Flight Sub-Lieutenant Gilbert Formby Smylie, R.N., found themselves while carrying out an air attack upon Ferrijik junction.
The Reverend Dionysius Smylie had distinguished himself at Trinity College, Dublin, and had gained a Hebrew scholarship there; after that he had written a work on the Revelations, which clearly settled the long-controverted point whether Rome in the great apocalypse was signified by Babylon. The bishop shrugged his shoulders when he received Mr.
Smylie, had now, with respect to him, only one duty, and that was to restrain his exuberant priestliness; but they fulfilled that duty in a kindly and charitable spirit; and, when the Reverend Dionysius Smylie was appointed chaplain to Lothair, the bishop did not shrug his shoulders, the chaplain did not sigh, nor the archdeacon groan.
It was a question of seconds merely before it must explode. So Smylie rushed over to the machine, took hasty aim with his revolver, and exploded the bomb, just before the Commander came within the danger zone.
And Marjory nestled close to her uncle for a moment, and then sprang out of the cart and began hugging Lisbeth in the most boisterous fashion. But who was this standing shyly in the background? Here was indeed a surprise. This girl with the smooth sleek head, the neat gown and spotless apron and cap, could it be Mary Ann Smylie, the rich miller's daughter? Yes, indeed it was.
Smylie described it, without saying another word. "Won't you come into the house?" asked Mary Ann, and Marjory went. She did not care about these people; she had never liked Mary Ann, and could hardly bear to look at her now, or listen to her affected way of talking.
She did her errands in the village, finishing up at the post office, which was also the bakery and the most important building in the place. Mrs. Smylie, the baker's wife and postmistress, served her with the stamps, and Marjory was about to say good-afternoon and leave the shop, when Mrs. Smylie opened a door and called out, "Mary Ann, here's Hunter's Marjory; maybe ye'd like to see her."
During an important professional visit to Ireland, Mr. Giles had made the acquaintance of Miss Apollonia Smylie, the niece of an Irish peer; and, though the lady was much admired and courted, had succeeded, after a time, in inducing her to become the partner of his life. Mrs. Giles, or, as she described herself, Mrs.
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