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Updated: August 28, 2024
Perchance her consciousness was truer than her reflection; perchance her dead sister was a closer companion than in life. The mother and daughter talked a long while with Mr. Wigglesworth about a suitable epitaph, and finally chose an ordinary verse of ill-matched rhymes which had already been inscribed upon innumerable tombstones.
No but rather level its green mound with the surrounding earth, as if, when she dug up again her buried heart, the spot had ceased to be a grave. Yet, in spite of these sentimentalities, I was prodigiously amused by an incident, of which I had not the good fortune to be a witness, but which Mr. Wigglesworth related with considerable humor.
On this especially cold day when a baby was baptized, the minister prayed for a mitigation of the weather, and on the same day in another town "Rev. Mr. Wigglesworth preached on the text, Who can stand before His Cold? Then by his own and people's sickness three Sabbaths passed without public Worship." February 20 he preached from these words: "He sends forth his word and thaws them."
'Ere!" came a piercing voice in unmistakable approval, galvanising the audience out of its apathy into instant emotional intensity. Wigglesworth, frowning heavily upon the interrupter, "that 'e is as welcome " "No! No!" cried the same Cockney voice, followed by a slight rumbling applause. "I say 'e is," shouted Mr. Wigglesworth, supported by hesitating applause. "No! No!
"Hold on, Wigglesworth," said Captain Jack quietly, catching his arm. "Were you beating up this kid?" he asked, turning to the young man. "Nae buddie's beatin' up the lad," said Mack quietly. "It was me," said the girl, turning a defiant face to Captain Jack. "You? Why! great Scot! Blest if it isn't Annette." "Yes, it's me," said the girl, her face a flame of colour.
Wigglesworth sitting down to dinner at a broad, flat tombstone, carving one of his own plump little marble cherubs, gnawing a pair of cross-bones, and drinking out of a hollow death's-head, or perhaps a lachrymatory vase, or sepulchral urn; while his hostess's dead children waited on him at the ghastly banquet.
"Unknown? What rubbish. I sent a note by Sam Wigglesworth, who gave it to some of you for Adrien. What about it?" As they approached the entrance to the Maitland Mills Vic saw a stream of employees issue from the gate. "Nothing more at present," he said. "This is my corner. Let me out. I am in an awful hurry, Jack." "Will you tell me, please, what all this means?" said Jack angrily.
His father, Reginald de Knoll, had married Beatrix de Arches, heiress of the manor of Wigglesworth. These estates, with others too numerous to mention, remained in our family till they were lost by the attainder of Sir Stephen Hamerton, who joined the insurrection known as "The Pilgrimage of Grace" in the reign of Henry VIII.
He was new at the business and was obviously torn between conflicting emotions of pride in his present important position and a wholesome fear of his "boss." However, having cleared his throat, Mr. Wigglesworth pulled himself together and with a wave of the hand began. "What do you want, Wigglesworth? What's your trouble? You have some trouble, what is it? Spit it out, man," said the boss sharply.
Grant Maitland, with request for employment. The old man looked the boy over. "What has he been doing?" "Nothin'. 'E's just left school." "High School?" "Naw. Public School." Wigglesworth Sr.'s tone indicated no exalted opinion of the Public School. "Public School! What grade, eh?" "Grade? I dinnaw. Wot grade, Samuel? "Uh?"
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