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Updated: June 11, 2025
A'body's here except the heich Glen, an' we mauna luke for them." "Dinna be sae sure o' that, Jamie. Yon's terrible like them on the road, wi' Whinnie at their head;" and so it was, twelve in all, only old Adam Ross absent, detained by force, being eighty-two years of age.
"'Appen she is," replied Mrs. Lister, "but yon's a grand lad, a fair grand lad!" "He may be a grand lad," retorted her husband, "and I don't deny that he has behaved vary weel, but how can he keep a wife? What sort of a home can he give our Alice?" "A lad that can do what he has done," replied Mrs. Lister, "will make his way anywhere.
Ralph replied and Bludson added: "Blest if the kid's ever seen the ocean before. He don't know a brace from a marlin spike." "I can learn, I reckon," said Ralph so heartily that Mr. Duff took a second look at the boy, then smiled to himself. "Run down to the cabin and fetch me up the doctor," said the mate. "Yon's the way." He pointed towards the companionway.
'Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy! I looked in all directions, as far as I could stare over the wilderness, and away at the sea, and away at the river, but no house could I make out.
Look, that's the baron- bailie near standing on his head, and there's Mr. Duthie off his head a' thegither. Yon's twa weavers and a mason cursing the laird, and the man wi' the besom is the Master of Crumnathie." "A democracy, at all events," said Gavin. "By no means," said the doctor, "it's an aristocracy of intellect. Gee up, Lightning, or the frost will be gone before we are there."
It was this last prolonged cheer which drowned the sound of footsteps on the path behind him, so that if he had been a tumbler pigeon himself he could not have jumped more nimbly when a man's hand fell upon his shoulder. Up went his arms to shield his ears from a well-merited cuffing; but fate was kinder to him than he deserved. "Yon's Daddy Darwin's Tumblers."
Yon's no type of the sour, dour, anti-prelatics; he comes closer on the perfect man and soldier than any man I ever met." M'Iver looked at me with a sign of injured vanity. "You're not very fastidious in your choice of comparisons," said he.
"I would be thinking this morning of the great power of prayer, Andra," he said, by way of introduction. "All the good that would be coming to Glenoro in these years the good Lord would be sending it in answer to prayer." Andrew Johnstone put his stick behind him; his face cleared. "Aye, aye, Duncan, yon's a fact.
I kenned it the now when she lookit sideways at ye. If yon's a grand lady, she's a woman o' puir repute. The Lord gi'e us grace." London was fog-bound. The threat of the past week had been no empty one. Towards the hour of each wintry sunset had come the yellow racks, hastening dusk and driving folks more speedily homeward to their firesides.
And yet the inside did not quite match this proper outside, for her whole soul was occupied with a beautiful vision herself with a fringe like Agnetta! It proved so engrossing that she hardly noticed Mrs Wishing's departure, and when her mother spoke she looked up startled. "Yon's a poor creetur as never could stand alone and never will," she said.
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