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As he came nearer, he seemed to me aged and haggard, and I thought he avoided my eye. The coble had been repaired, with two new thwarts and several patches of some rare and beautiful foreign wood, the name of it unknown to me. 'Why, Rorie, said I, as we began the return voyage, 'this is fine wood. How came you by that?
They talked of old times, sometimes sadly, sometimes sportively, glancing swiftly from one old memory to another. All Rorie's tiresome ways, all Vixen's mischievous tricks, were remembered. "I think I led you a life in those days, didn't I, Rorie?" asked Vixen, leaving the teatray, and stealing softly behind her lover's chair to lean over his shoulder caressingly, and pull his thick brown beard.
"What an idea! As if I should give anyone my portrait. I knew you were fond of Argus. Doesn't his head come out beautifully? The photographer said he was the best sitter he had had for ever so long. I hope you don't quite detest the locket, Rorie." "I admire it intensely, and I'm deeply grateful. But I feel inexpressibly sold, all the same.
Of these she brought half-a-dozen or so in the skirt of her habit, and then, swinging herself lightly into a comfortable corner of the manger, began to carry out her system of reward for good conduct, with much coquetry on her part and Titmouse's, Rorie watching it all from the empty stall adjoining, his folded inns resting on the top of the partition.
What are you going to be, Rorie? What are you going to do with your liberty? Are you going into Parliament?" Mr. Vawdrey indulged in a suppressed yawn. "My mother would like it," he said, "but upon my word I don't care about it. I don't take enough interest in my fellow-creatures." "If they were foxes, you'd be anxious to legislate for them," suggested Vixen.
This to the handmaiden, who was making tea at the gipsy table in front of the fire the table at which Vixen and Rorie had drunk tea so merrily on that young man's birthday. After tea mother and daughter went the round of the house. How familiar, how dear, how strange, how sad all things looked! The faithful servants had done their duty. Everything was in its place.
The gentlemen of the clan went away early in the morning to the harbour of Lochbradale, to take leave of some of their friends who were going to America. It was a very wet day. We looked at Rorie More's horn, which is a large cow's horn, with the mouth of it ornamented with silver curiously carved. It holds rather more than a bottle and a half.
Tempest, "for there were no joy-bells after eleven o'clock yesterday." "But they rang all the same, mamma. It was no use burying my head in the pillows; those bells only rang the louder. Ding-dong, ding-dong, dell, Rorie's come of age; ding-dong, dell, Rorie's twenty-one. Then I thought of the speeches that would be made, and I fancied I could hear Rorie speaking. Did he make a good speech, papa?"
"It was I," cried Rorie, "but there was no flirtation between Miss Tempest and me. Whoever asserted such a thing was a slanderer and I won't offend you by saying what he was, Miss Skipwith. There was no flirtation. I was Miss Tempest's oldest friend her old playfellow, and we liked to see each other, and were always friendly together. But it was an understood thing that I was to marry my cousin.
'It will have been a merman, Rorie said. 'A merman! screamed my uncle with immeasurable scorn. 'Auld wives' clavers! There's nae sic things as mermen. 'But what was the creature like? I asked. 'What like was it? Gude forbid that we suld ken what like it was! It had a kind of a heid upon it man could say nae mair.
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