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Updated: April 30, 2025
After this mental effort he sat down, lit his pipe, and taking out his knitting began work on a half-finished sock. To Wully the voice of Robin was the voice of God. Away he ran in 374 different directions, and headed off and rounded up the 374 different wanderers, and brought them back to the ferry-house before Robin, who was stolidly watching the process, had toed off his sock.
Every other interest was speedily swallowed up in the excitement over the Christmas concert Forest Glen was to have at the closing of school. It was Jean Gordon and Wully Johnstone's Bella who imported this newest fad, bringing it all the way from Cheemaun High School.
She never looked up the creek without longing to explore its winding pathway, right up to the depths of Wully Johnstone's swamp. And yet, strange Elizabeth, when she had once gained her desire, it had given her anything but enjoyment. She and Charles Stuart and John had built a raft from old mill slabs that spring, just when the creek was choked with blue fleur-de-lis and pink ladies'-slippers.
Wully slowly came near and sniffed and breathed his doggy breath in her face. She made no move. He nudged her gently with his nose. Then, with his sharp ears forward and his head on one side he studied her calm face. Still no sign. He walked quietly to the window, mounted the table without noise, placed his nose under the sash-bar and raised the light frame until he could put one paw underneath.
Wully could not have imagined any greater being than Robin, and yet for the sum of five shillings a week all Robin's vital energy and mental force were pledged to the service of a not very great cattle and sheep dealer, the real proprietor of Wully's charge, and when this man, really less great than the neighboring laird, or dered Robin to drive his flock by stages to the Yorkshire moors and markets, of all the 376 mentalities concerned, if Wully's was the most interested and interesting.
But dreams and rest were far from the minds of the Gay Gordons as they met the gathering clans in the lane to take their journey down the short-cut to school. Charles Stuart was there, and a crowd of Martins, and even Wully Johnstone's youngsters, who had come half a mile out of their way to join the crowd.
Another quick blow scattered his brains on the hearthstone, where so long he had been a faithful and honored retainer and Wully, bright, fierce, trusty, treacherous Wully, quivered a moment, then straightened out, and lay forever still. REDRUFF, The Story of the Don Valley Partridge Her little ones were one day old but already quick on foot, and she was taking them for the first time to drink.
The girls climbed in, Sarah Emily and all, and Archie and John took their places in Wully Johnstone's vehicle that had just emerged from their lane on to the public highway. Elizabeth sat in her favorite place, close up to Mother MacAllister. At first she decided she would not speak to Charles Stuart, nor look near him.
They were all ready, in various stages of excitement, when the MacAllister sleigh came jingling up to the door. In the winter, sleighs generally took the sawlog road along the short-cut to Forest Glen, and the Wully Johnstones had promised to come round that way, too, and pick up anybody who was left. To Elizabeth, this driving abroad after nightfall was like taking a voyage to a new planet.
Now and then a voice would rise above the general rumble, for old Silas Pratt was deaf, and Charles Stuart MacAllister and Wully Johnstone's Johnny, and John Gordon and all the other bad boys in his class, shouted their memory verses into his ear louder than even necessity demanded.
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