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Here the poor maniac sung, in a low and wild tone, "My banes are buried in yon kirkyard Sae far ayont the sea, And it is but my blithesome ghaist That's speaking now to thee. "But after a', Jeanie, my woman, naebody kens weel wha's living and wha's dead or wha's gone to Fairyland there's another question. Whiles I think my puir bairn's dead ye ken very weel it's buried but that signifies naething.
She sat on the edge of the bed, regarding her reflection in the mirror with extreme disfavor. Bill fingered his thick stubble of a beard for a thoughtful minute. Then he sat down beside her. "Wha's a mollah, hon?" he wheedled. "What makes you such a crosser patch all at once?" "Oh, I don't know," she answered dolefully. "I'm tired and hungry, and I look a fright and oh, just everything."
The Hieland lairds are pitting their best fit foremost. Will ye apply for shares?" "I think I'll tak' twa hundred. Wha's Sir Polloxfen Tremens?" "He'll be yin o' the Ayrshire folk. He used to rin horses at the Paisley races." "D'ye ken ony o' the directors, Jimsy?" "I ken Sawley fine. Ye may depend on't, it's a gude thing if he's in't, for he's a howkin' body." "Then it's sure to gae up.
"Wha's there the noo?" a sharp voice demanded. Foster laughed as he answered, the door was opened, and they saw Walters, who looked much the worse for the struggle, lying on a couch, while Pete stood grimly on guard. Walters glanced at Foster. "You're something of a surprise," he said. "We didn't expect much from you." "That's a mistake other people have made and regretted," Lawrence remarked.
"Say again," he burst forth, "that I was speaking agin the minister and I'll practise on you what I'm awid to do to her." "Who is she?" "Wha's wha?" "The woman whom the minister " "I said nothing about a woman," said poor Rob, alarmed for Gavin. "Doctor, I'm ready to swear afore a bailie that I never saw them thegither at the Kaims." "The Kaims!" exclaimed the doctor suddenly enlightened.
"Des keep on a-nappin' an' a-breavin' de f'esh air. Dass wha's go' mek you good an' well agin." Then there spoke the strangest voice that ever fell upon my ear; it was not like a child's, neither was it like a very old person's voice; it might have been a grasshopper's, it was so thin and little, and made of such tiny wavers and quavers and creakings.
The colored children shouted and Frane, Junior, ran right off the log and came screaming to the cabin: "He's gone down! He's gone down!" "What is the matter with you, Frane?" demanded the old woman, coming heavily down off the porch. "Who's gone down? Wha's he gone down to?" "Russ has gone down," announced Frane. "He's gone down after the catfish." "Lawsy me!" exclaimed Mammy June.
"Gentlemen," said another member of the committee, the youthful abstractionist from South Carolina, who was reputed to be a great poet on the stump, the Hon. Lowndes Cleburn "gentlemen, that boy puts the thing on its igeel merits and brings it home to us. I'll ju my juty in this issue. Abe, wha's my julep?"
His tongue loosened while Tomaso ate and praised Johnny's cookery with the innate flattery of his race. "Wha's that pic'shur? What you call that thing?" Tomaso pointed a slender, brown finger at a circular heading, whereon a pink aeroplane did a "nose dive" toward the date line through voluted blue clouds. "That? Say! Didn't you ever see a flying machine?" Johnny stared at him pityingly.
We found her once more alone indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the fields and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the beautiful young lady in the riding-coat. "Is this all the welcome I am to get?" said I, holding out my hand. "And have you no more memory of old friends?" "Keep me! wha's this of it?" she cried, and then, "God's truth, it's the tautit laddie!"
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