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"You would do well," urged the Captain; "you have the makings of a first-class soldier, and if a war broke out, you'd be a valuable man." "Not a bit in my line, I assure you," was Bob's reply. "I went in for this thing only to please my mater, and, to tell the truth, I regard it as little more than waste of time." "It wouldn't be waste of time if we went to war," said Captain Pringle.
At last we got up into the mountain region of Glen Lynden, the place to which the Scotch settlers were sent by Government in 1820, under the care of Thomas Pringle, the "African poet," who, among other pieces, wrote the beautiful poem which begins: "Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent bushboy alone by my side." The descendants of the 1820 men now occupy these valleys.
"We can divide the weight from the first, and then neither of us will be tired at all." "Just as you please, sir," said Jack Pringle. "I am willing to obey orders; and, if we are to get in to-night before they are all a-bed, we had better go at once; and then we shall not disturb them." "Good, Jack," said Mr. Chillingworth; "very good: let us begin to beat our retreat at once."
I kept the chair till near eleven, and the company were very joyous. February 10. I set myself doggedly to work, and turned off six leaves before dinner. Had to dinner Sir John Pringle, my dear Gala and his lady, and young Mackenzie and Miss Jardine. I was quite pleased to see Gala so well recovered of the consequences of his frightful fall, which hung about him so long.
"That's always like them, Abel, isn't it?" exclaimed Paul Pringle as he watched the main body of the French fleet still keeping aloof. "It puts me just in mind of what they used to do in the West Indies.
Some of the attendants went and opened the door which the carpenter had secured with several bars, and contrived to wake the keeper; who, on opening his eyes, did not appear to be in the least frightened at his situation. He took the paw of the lion, shook it, and quietly led him down to the lower part of his residence. It is from Mr. Pringle and Mr.
Nora could only repeat. "My dear," said Miss Pringle with an effort at consolation, "don't give way. I'm sure you'll have no difficulty in finding another situation. You wash lace beautifully and no one can arrange flowers like you." Nora sank wearily into a chair.
I helped Sir John Pringle to amputate the arm this afternoon, but even that may not save the patient. Here is a storm to warn the wandering linnet to his shade. A ship goes to-morrow evening. Get ready to take it. In that case your marriage will have to be delayed. Rash men are often compelled to live on hope and die fasting."
If some of the gentlemen of the press get hold of this story, what would they make of it, and how little would I care! One thing is clear: it gives me a right to decline future interference, and let the world wag, Sessa. March 12. Wrote the history of my four days' labour in vain to Sandy Pringle, Whytbank, and so transeat with cæteris erroribus. I only gave way to one jest.
No, Pringle," said Tom, colouring up. "You said something out loud, sir, and I thought you called." "Oh, I see, sir; you was speaking a bit out of your book. Not a bad way to get it into your head. You see you think it and hear it too." "It's rather hard to me, I'm afraid," said Tom, with the puzzled look intensifying in his frank, pleasant face.
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