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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Why, I reckon nothin' a-tall. Only that this mo'nin' I put a match to about a coupla hundred thousand dollars belongin' to Crawford, Sanders, and Hart." Eagerly Steelman clutched his arm. "You did it, then?" "Didn't I say I'd do it?" snapped Doble irritably. "D'ya ever know me rue back on a bargain?" "Never." "Wha's more, you never will. I fired the chaparral above Bear Cañon. The wind was right.
'But, Geordie, I remonstrated, 'he doesn't know anything of the doctrines. I don't believe he could give us "The Chief End of Man." 'An' wha's tae blame for that? said Geordie, with fine indignation. 'An' maybe you remember the prood Pharisee and the puir wumman that cam' creepin' in ahint the Maister.
Arter wha's come and gone, we t'ree can't hob an' nob, as ye may say, together. My ch'ice is made, then, and this is how I ha' fixed it up. When yer day's wark is done, and you come home, I go out o' your house. Sune as yer up an' away i' th' mornin', I come in and ridd up yer missus and wait on 'er, while the woman's in need of me."
"Your brother forced his way into my room." "What are you talking about?" Mrs. Fennell drew her guest swiftly inside. "Hush! Don't make a show of yourself." "Wha's all this?" came from Harden Fennell, who was sprawled in a chintz-covered easy-chair, minus coat, waistcoat, and collar. He rose slowly as Lorelei, incoherent with rage, poured out her story. "Wha's trouble?" he mumbled.
"An' wha sud that be?" rejoined her mistress. "Ow, wha but the laird himsel'?" answered Grizzie, "Wha's to come atween father an' son wi' licht upo' family-affairs? No even the mistress hersel' wad hae prezhunt upo' that?" "Keep your own place, Grizzie," said the old lady with dignity.
Names and episodes crowd one another out the more one writes, the more one recalls. These random jottings, however, will call up many more to the reader's memory. Such is my hope that, having started you in a reminiscent frame of mind you will now carry on "spinning the yarn" yourself. "Here's tae oorsel's! Wha's like us! Damned few!" Capt. Capt. H.S. Sharp. Capt. Cpl. F. and F.Y. and 14th R.H.
Wha's-ever-your-name 's a precautionary measure." "That's all right, Papa," said Case. "But you'll have to brace up. There's going to be a marriage Mr. Wiltshire here is going to get spliced." The old man asked to whom. "To Uma," said Case. "Uma!" cried the captain. "Wha's he want Uma for? 's he come here for his health, anyway? Wha' 'n hell 's he want Uma for?" "Dry up, Papa," said Case.
"Ay! wha's bairn is it?" inquired another voice, that fell with ominous familiarity on her ear, as she turned her head a little and saw the female visitor, a tall, handsome blonde, with bold, blue eyes and a cataraet of golden hair falling on her shoulders.
A fat young woman with a soap-shining face ran out of the farmhouse. "Wha's calling me? Och, it's you, Mistress Cairns!" "Ay, it's me. What's ta'en ye all here? I've been awa' for two months keepin' hoose for ma brither Jock while his wife's been in the Infirmary wi' her chumer. I didn't think I'd come back to find a roup at Little Vantage."
The doggie's i' the lodge wi' the caretaker, wha's fair ill, an' he canna be seen the day. But gang aroond the kirk an' ye can see Auld Jock's grave that he's aye guarded. There's nae stave to it, but it's neist to the fa'en table-tomb o' Mistress Jean Grant. A gude day to ye. Hae ye got a' that, man? Weel, cheer up.
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