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Updated: May 31, 2025
He's wilder 'n a deer an' I've seen 'im jump over logs, half as high as this shanty, jest as easy as ye 'd hop a twig. Tried t' foller 'im once er twice but tain' no use. He's quicker 'n a wil' cat. 'What kind of a lookin' man is he? Tip Taylor asked. 'Great, big, broad-shouldered feller, said Ab. 'Six feet tall if he's an inch.
All Tournon was down at the water-side to meet us, and on the landing-stage was the very Mayor: a lean and tri-coloured man who took off his hat comprehensively to our whole company in a magnificent bow. Notables were with him the Sous-Prefect, the Mayor of Tain, the Adjoint, leading citizens who also bowed to us; but not with a bow like his!
Willy stepped back abashed. His heart accused him and told him the charge was true. Still he ventured one more question: "Hadn't you better take the hens out?" "Nor; 'tain' no use to teck nuttin' out dyah. Ef he comes to, he know we got 'im, an' he dyahson' trouble nuttin'." And the old man pushed to the door and fastened the iron hasp over the strong staple.
'Hear'n 'em tell 'bout goin' t' the village, an' I says t' myself, "Uncle Eb," says I, "we'll hev t' be goin'. 'Tain' no place fer you in the village." 'Holden, said David Brower, 'don't ye never talk like that ag'in. Yer just the same as married t' this family, an' ye can't ever git away from us.
After travelling a league or two, the road began to wind into the outskirts of the range of mountains which we had first seen from Tain, and reminded us, in its general features, of some of the most sequestered parts of South Wales.
Yesterday and to-day I have observed Curtis remonstrat- ing somewhat vehemently with Captain Huntly, but there is no obvious result arising from their interviews; the cap- tain apparently being bent upon some purpose, of which it is only too manifest that the mate decidedly disapproves.
The Tain gives us vivid pictures of people and things, but it is not full of beauty and of tender imagination like many of the Gaelic stories. Among the most beautiful and best known of these are perhaps the Three Sorrows of Story-Telling. These three stories are called: The Tragedy of the Children of Lir; The Tragedy of the Children of Tuireann; and Deirdre and the Sons of Usnach.
All the men had something and tapped rims with the visitor. "'Pears to me you people is mighty clevah up hyeah; 'tain' no wondah Zachariah don' wan' to come home." Just then they heard a loud whoop outside the door, and a voice broke in upon them singing thickly, "Oh, this spo'tin' life is surely killin' me." The men exchanged startled glances.
Its gables were red-roofed, its walls of graystone half hidden by lofty hedges of cedar. We stopped our horses, looking off to the distant woods on each side of us. "Can't be," said D'ri, soberly, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. "Wonder where they live," I remarked. "All looks mighty cur'us," said he. "'Tain' no way nat'ral." "Let's go in there and ask," I suggested.
"'Tain' no use fer to hoe groun' dat ain' got no richness," she was saying, shaking her huge head until the dipper hanging on the lintel of the door rattled, "en'tain' no use preachin' ter a nigger dat ain' got no gumption. Es de tree fall, so hit' gwine ter lay, en es a fool's done been born, so he gwine ter die. 'Tain' no use a-tryin' fer to do over a job dat de Lawd done slighted.
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