United States or Svalbard and Jan Mayen ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Well he understood the implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife. "Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking about him "Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James Moore!" whipping round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone gone, I say!" Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly.
For one thing, I like to imagine that God, or Nature, whichever you like to call it isn't a perfect machine yet, and that we human beings can step in to help a bit." "But how?" "Wullie's father, I've heard, was drowned before he was born, and his mother was too proud to tell when she was hungry.
There was a hole right through the helmet of Jimmy, the unbeliever. The fact that there was not also a hole through his head was due to his forethought in having put on a tam-o'-shanter underneath. The net result was a truncated "toorie." Wullie's bullet had struck his helmet at a more obtuse angle, and had glanced off, as the designer of the smooth exterior had intended it to do.
When the fried sheep had lived too long before being killed, or been kept too long after death, they spent considerable time looking at the pretty pictures in the cookery book: Marcella told of Wullie's feasts in the beach-hut. Louis remembered restaurant celebrations.
Wullie sits down at the fire, and awa' wi' her yarn gaes the wife; but scarce had she steekit the door, and wan half-way down the close, when the bairn cocks up on its doup in the cradle, and rounds in Wullie's lug: 'Wullie Tylor, an' ye winna tell my mither when she comes back, I'se play ye a bonny spring on the bagpipes. I wat Wullie's heart was like to loup the hool for tylors, ye ken, are aye timorsome but he thinks to himsel': 'Fair fashions are still best, an' 'It's better to fleetch fules than to flyte wi' them'; so he rounds again in the bairn's lug: 'Play up, my doo, an' I'se tell naebody. Wi' that the fairy ripes amang the cradle strae, and pu's oot a pair o' pipes, sic as tylor Wullie ne'er had seen in a' his days muntit wi' ivory, and gold, and silver, and dymonts, and what not.
"'Adieu, dear amiable youth!" he cried in broken voice; and straightway set to sobbing again. Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned. "I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin'," he shouted back. "I'd advise yo' to keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'." In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
That's when they get holes torn in them." He walked on for a few steps, and then turned to laugh into Marcella's puzzled face. "All of which, I'd like to point out, I take no credit for, Marcella. I got it out of Kraill's Edinburgh lectures that have just been published in book form." "I hate that way of talking," said Marcella abruptly. "I like Wullie's way best.
"I do declar' he tak's more fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own flesh," she muttered. "Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone ma Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the yard, searching everywhere. "Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about him.
Gin they gentlemen" nodding toward the crowd "should set hands on me, why " and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the bridge." With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass. There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
He stretched his hands up tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the dimmed sides with his handkerchief. "Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o' they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince for a diversion."
Word Of The Day