United States or Switzerland ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"But Saunders hes been fillin' his lungs for five and thirty year wi' strong Drumtochty air, an' eatin' naethin' but kirny aitmeal, and drinkin' naethin' but fresh milk frae the coo, an' followin' the ploo through the new-turned sweet-smellin' earth, an' swingin' the scythe in haytime and harvest, till the legs an' airms o' him were iron, an' his chest wes like the cuttin' o' an oak tree.
Land sakes, I wish't I could roam a bit, 'stead er sittin', sittin', an' knittin', knittin', mornin', noon an' night, all along of these 'ere useless old legs of mine!" "Poor Granny!" murmured the girl, softly, tears coming into her eyes. "I wish't we could get 'round, the two of us, in these sweet-smellin' spring woods, an' get the first Mayflowers together! Couldn't you just try now, Granny?
'Wherever you see them beautiful primroses, and them shinin' snowdrops, and them sweet-smellin' vi'lets, that's allus the grave of a child or else of a young Gorgie as died a maid; and wherever you see them laurel trees, and box trees, and 'butus trees, that's the grave of a pusson as ain't nuther child nor maid, an' the Welsh folk think nobody else on'y child'n an' maids ain't quite good enough to be turned into the blessed flowers o' spring.
David Maxwell can finish the job you had in hand, speakin' of that, does any one know where David is just now?" "He's down at the bottom of a gasometer," answered Joe; "leastwise he was there this afternoon an' a dirty place it is." "A bad-smellin' job that, I should think," observed Rooney. "Well, it ain't a sweet-smellin' one," returned Joe. "He's an adventurous man is David.
There ain't no wind will blow on me after I'm dead, but I'll be blanketed safe from head to foot in cool, sweet-smellin' sod the kind that has tangles of the roots of grass. There ain't no snow will reach to me where I lie. There ain't no sun will burn down to me. Dyin' like that is jest goin' to sleep."
There ain't no wind will blow on me after I'm dead, but I'll be blanketed safe from head to foot in cool, sweet-smellin' sod the kind that has tangles of the roots of grass. There ain't no snow will reach to me where I lie. There ain't no sun will burn down to me. Dyin' like that is jest goin' to sleep."
"Have you a garden of your own?" she asked. "No. I'm bachelder an' lodge with Martin at th' gate." "If you had one," said Mary, "what would you plant?" "Cabbages an' 'taters an' onions." "But if you wanted to make a flower garden," persisted Mary, "what would you plant?" "Bulbs an' sweet-smellin' things but mostly roses." Mary's face lighted up. "Do you like roses?" she said.
This man did everything, in his grave, soothin' way, to smooth down my sorrow not to lead me to forget, for that was impossible an' make the roadway of my life as pleasant as a country lane hedged in with sweet-smellin' flowers an' alive with birds nestlin' and twitterin' among the buds and blossoms.
I must tell Miller an' run about a bit. Gwaine to be a gert day, by the looks of it!" He hurried into the house, met his master and began with breathless haste, "Awful doin's! Awful doin's, Miller. Such a sweet-smellin' marnin', tu! Bear yourself stiff against it, for us caan't say what remains to be told." "What's wrong now? Doan't choke yourself.
"But Saunders hes been fillin' his lungs for five and thirty year wi' strong Drumtochty air, an' eatin' naethin' but kirny aitmeal, and drinkin' naethin' but fresh milk frae the coo, an' followin' the ploo through the new-turned, sweet-smellin' earth, an' swingin' the scythe in haytime and harvest, till the legs an' airms o' him were iron, an' his chest wes like the cuttin' o' an oak tree.
Word Of The Day