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Updated: June 11, 2025
Even Miss Tranter aint wantin' in feelin', though she's a bit sour like, owin' to 'avin missed a 'usband an' all the savin' worrity wear-an-tear a 'usband brings, but she aint arf bad. Yon's the lamp of 'er 'Trusty Man' now." A gleam of light, not much larger than the glitter of one of the glow-worms in the grass, was just then visible at the end of the long field they were traversing.
Christie made a dash en Shylock, and the company trembled. Christie. "'Bide a wee, says the judge, 'this boend gies ye na a drap o' bluid; the words expressly are, a pund o' flesh!" "That's into your mutton, Shylock" "Oh, Jean! yon's an awfu' voolgar exprassion to come fra' a woman's mooth." "Could ye no hae said, 'intil his bacon'?" said Lizzie Johnstone, confirming the remonstrance. Christie.
Foster paid his bill and set off with Pete, taking the main road west until they reached the end of the village, where some men were working on a colliery bank. Pete indicated a lane that branched off to the north. "Yon's our way, but I'm thinking we'll gang straight on for a bit."
Yon's ane 'at canna gather, nor stock, nor bin', but she's bonny a' throu', an' her v'ice is a sang, an' she'll gang throu' fire an' waiter ohn blinkit for her love's sake. Yon's the lass for oor laird! The like o' you an' me sud trible heid nor hert aboot the likes o' HIM." "Speyk for yersel', lass," said Elsie.
'We'll be a day behind the fair at Liverpool. The Grotkau's got all the freight that might ha' been ours an' the Lammergeyer's. McRimmon laughed an' chuckled the pairfect eemage o' senile dementia. Ye ken his eyebrows wark up an' down like a gorilla's. "'Ye're under sealed orders, said he, tee-heein' an' scratchin' himself. 'Yon's they' to be opened seriatim.
James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer night. "Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself. "Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the boy, if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob there follows him.
Quite abruptly the non-commissioned officer raised an arm and pointed. "Yon's the Cypress Hills, boys," he cried. "See, they're getting up out of the heat haze on the skyline. We're heading too far south." He spoke without for a moment withdrawing the steady gaze of his hard blue eyes. One of the troopers answered him. "Sure, sergeant," he agreed. "We need to head away to the left."
Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!" For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the slope amidst a thunder of applause. At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
'Well, the last toime I sees me old side-kick the Lord Mayor, 'e says as 'ow they was took by a Canadian for a soovenir. 'Na, said the Scotsman reprovingly; 'I'm thinkin' yon's exaggerated. 'By Gar! said the French-Canadian. 'See, the orderly come now with water for shav'. Back in de bush or on de long portage I shav' once, twice, perhaps tree time a month.
"Not her," said Bisset. "She's never in this part of the house now. She'll be none the wiser anyhow." This argument seemed to assure Mr. Carrington completely, and they went along to the library. "Now," began Bisset, "I'll just explain to you the haill situation. Here where I'm laying this sofie cushion was the corp. Here where I'm standing the now was the wee table, and yon's the table itself."
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