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Updated: June 29, 2025
Jim intimated that if it was his wedding day it was no business of Blenkiron's. "Wall," said the blacksmith, "ef they dawn't gie yo' soom roough music to-morra night, it'll bae better loock than yo' desarve t' two o' yo'." Greatorex scowled at his kinsman. "Look yo' 'ere, John Blenkiron, I warn yo'. Any man in t' Daale thot speaaks woon word agen my wife 'e s'all 'ave 'is nack wroong."
But Doctor Keene, without waiting for this question, had asked one: "Does Frowenfeld board with them?" "Psh-sh-sh! Board! Dey woon board de Marquis of Casa Calvo! I don't b'lieve dey would board Honoré Grandissime! All de king' an' queen' in de worl' couldn' board dare! No, sir! 'Owever, you know, I think dey are splendid ladies. Me an' my wife, we know them well.
But this notwithstanding, with valiant fight hir people entered, and so the towne was woon: she got diuerse other places out of their hands, & constreined them of Yorkeshire to agree with hir, so that some of them promised to become hir subiects: some vowed to aid hir, and some sware to be at hir commandement. Hunt. West. West it should appeere.
It was on a cold and drenching afternoon in October that I spent an hour at Woon Gate: for in all the homeless landscape this little round-house offers the only shelter, its windows looking east and west along the high-road and abroad upon miles of moorland, hedgeless, dotted with peat-ricks, inhabited only by flocks of grey geese and a declining breed of ponies, the chartered vagrants of Woon Down.
All these objects impressed themselves on Ally's brain, adhering to its obsession and receiving from it an immense significance and importance. She heard Maggie's running feet, and the great leisurely steps of Greatorex, and his voice, soft and kind, encouraging Maggie. "Theer that's t' road. Gently, laass moor' 'aaste, less spead. Now t' tray an' a clane cloth t' woon wi' laace on 't.
It is hard to recognize in the round, sun-tanned, happy face we see today, the unhappy slave girl of Woon Ha's den on Spofford alley. It is a matter of no small importance that the Christian public of America should realize that in the Oriental slavery of its Pacific Coast it faces a flood.
Two miles and more to the north, and just under the rim of the horizon, straggle the cottages of a few tin-streamers, with their backs to the wind. These look down across an arable country, into which the women descend to work at seed-time and harvest, and whence, returning, they bring some news of the world. But Woon Gate lies remoter.
General Woon, who knew Kashmir well, did his very best to dissuade us from attempting the passes into Astor, reading to us gloomy extracts from his journal, and pointing out that it was no fit country for a lady in early spring. He did much to shake our enthusiasm, but still I felt we must do our best to "keep tryst" with the Smithsons.
But ef I goa yo'll nat find anoother woman as'll coom to yo'. There's nat woon as'll keer mooch t' work for yore laady." "Wull yo' wark for 'er, Maaggie?" he had said. And Maggie, with a sullen look and hitching her coarse apron, had replied remarkably: "Ef Assy Gaale can wash fer er I rackon I can shift to baake an' clane." "Wull yo' waait on 'er?" he had persisted.
"An' 'ow 'bout t' women, Jimmy? There'll bae a sight o' nacks fer yo' t' wring, I rackon. They'll 'ave soomat t' saay to 'er, yore laady." "T' women? T' women? Domned sight she'll keer for what they saay. There is n' woon o' they bitches as is fit t' kneel in t' mood to 'er t' tooch t' sawle of 'er boots." Blenkiron peered up at him from the crook of the mare's hind leg.
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