Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Yes; it's me," said Minty, "and Creation knows it's time I DID come, to keep that boy from ruinin' us with his airs and conceits." "Did ye bring over any o' that fever mixter?" "No. Bradley sez you're loading yerself up with so much o' that bitter bark kuinine they call it over there that you'll lift the ruff off your head next. He allows ye ain't got no ague; it's jest wind and dyspepsy.
A terrible mixter o' reid and white." "What said he about it?" asked Alec, trembling. "Ow, naething. He had naething till say. Ye maunna gang near him; for I left him fest asleep. Gang awa benn to yer ain room, and I'll be in wi' yer brakfast in ten minutes. Eh! but ye wad be a fine lad gin ye wad only gie up the drink and the ill company." Alec obeyed, ashamed and full of remorse.
And she pointed with her bare elbow, and with a jerk of her head, at everything that surrounded her, at the little white house, the quince-tree, the rickety paling, even at Mr. Mixter. "You are in exile!" I said, smiling. "You may imagine what it is! These two years that I have been here I have passed hours hours! One gets used to things, and sometimes I think I have got used to this.
I had it real straight that she did. Luella used to just sit and cry and do nothin'. She did act real fond of Lily, and she pined away considerable, too. There was those that thought she'd go into a decline herself. But after Lily died, her Aunt Abby Mixter came, and then Luella picked up and grew as fat and rosy as ever.
At seven o'clock the fair was in full swing, as far as the wares and saleswomen were concerned. At the flower-booth were four pretty girls: Fanny Dodge, Ellen Dix, Joyce Fulsom and Ethel Mixter. Each stood looking out of her frame of green, and beamed with happiness in her own youth and beauty. They did not, could not share the anxiety of the older women.
Mixter, says I, 'you look worse than she does. You ain't fit to be up out of your bed. "'Oh, there ain't anythin' the matter with me, says she. Then she went on talkin' to Luella. 'There, there, don't, don't, poor little lamb, says she. 'Aunt Abby is here. She ain't goin' away and leave you. Don't, poor little lamb. "'Do leave her with me, Mrs.
She was a tiny, thin, nervous creature with restless, veinous little hands, and a long, thin neck upon which her small frizzled head vibrated constantly like the head of a bird. Anderson knew her very well. Back in his childhood they had been schoolmates. He remembered distinctly little Stella Mixter.
I makes my pipes of old penny ink-bottles, ye see, deary this is one and I fits-in a mouthpiece, this way, and I takes my mixter out of this thimble with this little horn spoon; and so I fills, deary. Ah, my poor nerves! I got Heavens-hard drunk for sixteen year afore I took to this; but this don't hurt me, not to speak of. And it takes away the hunger as well as wittles, deary.
He pulled his knees up, plucked at the grass with his hand, stared, blushed a little. "You are talking French," said Mr. Mixter. "La belle découverte!" said the Countess. "Here are ten months," she explained to me, "that I am giving him lessons. Don't put yourself out not to say he's an idiot; he won't understand you." "I hope your other pupils are more gratifying," I remarked. "I have no others.
Mixter glanced about him, and then sat down in the grass at her feet. He gazed upward, looking with parted lips from the Countess to me. "I am sure you speak French," said the Countess, fixing her brilliant little eyes upon me. "I do, madam, after a fashion," I answered in the lady's own tongue.
Word Of The Day