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"I suspect," remarked Roger, "it will turn out to be only that she's something of a Bohemian, like ourselves." "Thank you, Roger; but for my part, I don't consider myself a Bohemian at all," I said. "I am afraid you must rank with your husband, wifie," said mine, as the wives of the working people of London often call their husbands.
Skirl, a shrill sound, especially that characteristic of the bagpipes. Slippit awa', slipped away, died. Sync, afterward, since. Tarn, a small mountain lake. Tatties, potatoes. Tid, a pet name for a child. Tirley-wirley, a disturbance. Wasna, was not. Wee bit hoosie, little house. Whaup, the curlew, a large bird of the Sandpiper Family. Wifie, an endearing term for a woman.
"Two old people each with her own ways, and without any memories in common to bind them together! I'm surprised at your dreaming of such a thing," exclaimed his wife. "But I didn't even dream of it; I only said it," returned her husband. "It's time you knew when I was joking, wifie." "You joke so dreadfully like earnest!" she answered.
Her shadow went all the way up behind her into the hollow of the iron roof; she stood against it bright, the lamplight shining on her skin. I stopped in the door, and she looked at me, not speaking, with eyes that were eager and yet daunted; then she touched herself on the bosom. “Me—your wifie,” she said.
She choked and she gurgled, until the last drop had left her windpipe under the persuasion of pattings on the back from the others and then she gave herself up to loud, hoarse laughter, through which there shrilled the staccato squeaks of wee wifie. Nothing, even if you are being laughed at yourself, is so infectious as prolonged laughter, and the Padre felt himself forced to join it.
Wyse, so far from wanting his party to be very small, had been encouraged by Mrs. Poppit to hope that it would include all his world of Tilling with one exception. He had hopes with regard to the Major and the Captain, and the Padre and wee wifie, and Irene and Miss Mapp, and of course Isabel. But apparently he despaired of Diva.
But it was not the sudden flash, it was not the laughing, cruel face, which shot an ice-cold shudder through Francoise de Montespan. It was that, of all men upon earth, this was he whom she most dreaded, and whom she had least thought to see. "Maurice!" she screamed. "Maurice! it is you!" "Yes, little wifie, it is I. We are restored to each other's arms, you see, after this interval."
"Do not say such words, dearest, not even in jest; you do not know how it hurts me. Do you think I would have refused to play that piece for papa for a slight reason, Guy?" "No, but tell me the reason, wifie. Come, no secrets from your hubby, mind," looking into her eyes with a teasing glance.
They took their slow way back to the village, the prince leaving behind him a trail which would have gladdened the heart of the last, or any other, of the Cherokees. The Baron von Habelschwert, sleeping peacefully beside a sweet work of genius, called "Dove Wifie," which had fallen from his hand, missed the departure of his young charge in the wake of Pollyooly.
Wee wifie gave a loud squeal, as if to say something, but her husband led her firmly off, while Diva, with rapidly revolving feet, sped like an arrow up the centre of the High Street. "Such a lovely morning!" said Miss Mapp to Mrs. Poppit, when there was no one else to talk to. "And everyone looks so pleased and happy, and all in such a hurry, busy as bees, to do their little businesses. Yes."
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