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Updated: June 22, 2025
His eye turned inward, he walked to and fro, and his companions died out of his sight he was in the kingdom of art. His lordship and Jean entered the "Peacock," followed by Flucker, who merely lingered at the door to moralize as follows: "Hech! hech! isna thaat lamentable? Christie's mon's as daft as a drunk weaver." But one stayed quietly behind, and assumed that moment the office of her life.
'Tha means th' rich mon's lass, doesndto? 'Yi! Did He ever do ought for a poor mon's lass? 'He did for a poor woman's lad, thaa knows a widder's son one like thine. 'But he's noan here naa, so we's be like to bide by it, ey, dear? Mi lad! mi lad! 'Don't tak' on like that, lass; noather on us 'll hev to bide long.
Mon's apartment, indeed, in the tall house next door to the Posada de los Reyes on the Paseo del Ebro was a known resort of the more cultured of the pilgrims, of these who came from afar; from Rome and from the farthest limits of the Roman Church from Warsaw to Minnesota.
"Ut was a drunken mon's luck, for the Starry Grace wore off afore thot God-Almighty gale wuthout shuppun' a bucket o' watter, the second mate shoutun' orders an' the crew jumpun' like mod. An' wuth thot the skupper nods contented-like tull humself an' goes below after more whusky.
He's not much of parson though; he wunna send yer to sleep wi' his long preachings. But oi say the mon's a good mon: he'll coom and see yer when you're bad, an' talk t' ye by th' hour; though he dunna talk oot o' th' Bible. But oi'm a lad o' t' forest, and 'll be a keeper some toime. That's better nor book-larning."
"The mon's deid," said he. "Dead!" cried I, from the bottom-board. "No more dead than you!" I turned over so lustily that he dropped my feet, and I sat up, something to his consternation. And they had scarce hooked the ship's side when I sprang up the sea-ladder, to the great gaping of the boat's crew, and stood with the water running off me in rivulets before the captain himself.
I dinna mean but that a poor mon's childer can be bright, braw, guid boys an' girls; they be, I ken mony o' them mysel'. But gin the father an' the mither think high an' act gentle an' do noble, ye'll fin' it i' the blood an' bone o' the childer, sure as they're born. Now, look ye! I kenned Robert Burnham, I kenned 'im weel.
A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his heels. After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's mad; he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers: "Nay; not even murder." The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in everlasting pain.
So expired the Black Moll. I was picked up and thrown into the brigantine's long-boat with a head and stomach full of salt water, and a heart as light as spray with the joy of it all. A big, red-bearded man lifted my heels to drain me. "The mon's deid," said he. "Dead!" cried I, from the bottom-board. "No more dead than you!"
"Ye domned murderer, fwat's too hard? D'y' think we can't wurruk?" "D'ye think ye can wark?" said Murphy. "Thin git at that capstan, you Galway min. And git busy, quick, or I'll give the job to the Limerick boys. They're passably good min, I think." "To hill wi' thim! Hurrah, here, b'ys. C'm'an and pull the mon's rope. Who says we can't wurruk?"
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