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Updated: June 17, 2025
"With many a weary sigh, therefore, and many a groan," the poor Dominie returned from his hopeless pilgrimage, and weariedly plodded his way towards Woodbourne, debating at times in his altered mind a question which was forced upon him by the cravings of an appetite rather of the keenest, namely, whether he had breakfasted that morning or no?
"Well, it has been now, I guess," retorted Annixter. "I'm sure I couldn't tell you, Mr. Annixter." Annixter crossed his legs weariedly. "Oh, what's the good of lying, Ruggles? You know better than to talk that way to me." Ruggles's face flushed on the instant, but he checked his answer and laughed instead. "Oh, if you know so much about it " he observed. "Well, when are you going to sell to me?"
On their way they passed near to Fern's Hollow, and Stephen heard little Nan's shrill voice calling his name, as if she were seeking him weariedly; but when he hesitated for a moment, his heart yearning to answer her, Black Thompson again patted him on the back, and bade him never show the white feather, but remember poor dead Snip; at which his passion for revenge returned, and he pressed on eagerly to the fir-coppice.
The last words he had spoken painfully, dragging them one after another, as if the very utterance of them was hateful to him. He looked at me with his cold, glittering eyes, which seemed almost mocking at me, even then. "Richard," I said, "it is true." "Good God!" he cried. His lips closed after that cry, and seemed as if they would never open again. He shut his eyes weariedly.
I could see now that the driver was a burly, red-faced, cleanshaven Norman peasant, wearing a white cotton cap, with a tassel over his forehead, who stared at me, and at Minima dragging herself weariedly to my side, as if we had both dropped from the clouds. He crossed himself hurriedly, and glanced at the grove of dark, solemn trees from which we had come.
With the front of her garments dripping wet, she stood erect from her tub, looked at him where he sat near the kitchen fire the base-burner had long been cold and said: "Sammy, you must go to work. I can do no more. It is killing me." "But what can I do, mother dear?" he answered kindly. "I do not know," she said weariedly. "Something, maybe, that will help. You are educated.
Garrison?" asked by the attending physician on the day before his death, he replied, weariedly, "To finish it up!" And this he did at the home of his daughter, Mrs. Henry Villard, in New York, in the midst of children and grandchildren, near midnight, on May 24, 1879.
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