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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Signal, 1881-10-14, Page 22 That Lass o' Lo�ia'a, a a?OIY ON VIE LaXO•sfxll MAL rmirMa. BY Vitiate= HonGaOrr Bt•anrrr. CHAPTER VI. THE HURON SIGNAL. FRIDAY. OCT. 14, Nil. "He wur allus after We," she it,d,witb fresh tears. "He nivver let ins be till I promised to go. He sited hie would make' a lady o pie, aa' lee war elle' Elvin' ane thine. He nut fond d me at first. that he war; an' I weir fond u bi+m I nivver seed gm one Ioibe tntp afore. Oh ! it's hard. h i•—oh ! !<'s Bitter hand an' cruel, as it await! costs Le this !" And she waded and subbed until she wore herself out, and wearied Jean to the very soul. tout axn THE tactic But Juan bore with To the young curate's great w der, 1 showed impatience by en his first visit to her after the vent of Lis and her child, Joan changed tier manner towards him. She did not at- tempt to repel him, she even bade him tier, and never word or deed. Childish petulance. and plaints fell upon her like water upon a nock—but now and then the strong nature was rasped beyond endurance by the weak one. welcome in a way of her own. Deep in She had taken no small task upon herself .loan's heart was hidden a fancy that when she gave Liz her word that she perhaps the work of this young fellow would shield her. Only ahe,r a while, who was "good enow fur a parson," lay in a few weeks, a new influence began to with such as Liz, and those whu, like work upon Liz's protectress. The child Liz, bore a heavy burden. for whom there seemed no place in the "If yo' can do her any good," she'sid, world, or in any pitying heart—the "come and welcome. Come every day. I dunnot know much about such like mysen, yo' ha' a way o' helpin' folk as canna help theirsens i' trouble—an' Lis is one on 'em. " childfor whom Liz felt nothing but vague dislike and resentment—the child laid its light but powerful hand upon Joan. Once or twice she noticed as she moved about the room that the little creature's Truly Liz was one of these. ft►e eyes would follow her in a way something clung to Joan in • hopeless, childish way like its mother's, as if with appeal to her as her only comfort. She could do superior strength. She fell gradually n)thing for herself, she could only obey into the habit of giving it more attention. .Joan's dictates, and this she did in list- It was so little and light, so easily taken less misery. When she had work to do, from Liz's careless hold when it was rest - she made weak efforts at doing it, and leas, so easily carried to and fro as she when she had none she sat and held the went about her household tasks. She child upon her knee, her eyes following her friend with a vague appeal. The had never known ;ouch about babies un- til chance had thrown this one in her discomfort of her lot, the wretchedness path; it was a' great novelty. It liked of coming hack to shame and jeers after her strong arms, and Liz was always a brief reason of pleasure and luxury, ready to give it up to her, feeling only a was what crushed her. So long as her weak bewilderment at her fancy for it. lover had cared for her, and she had felt When she was at home it was rarely out no fear of hunger or cold, or desertion, of ber arms. It was no source of wean - she had been happy—happy because she could be idle, and take no thought for the morrow, and was almost a lady. But now all that was over. She had come to the bitter dregs of the cup. She was thrown on her own resources—no- body helped her but Join, nobody called her pretty and praised her ways. She sea: not to be a lady after all; she must work for her living,and it must be a poor .one too. There would be no fine clothes, no nice rooms, no flattery and sugar- plums. Everything would be even far harder and more unpleasant than it had been before. And then, the baby 7 What could she du with it ?—a creature more helpless than herself, always to be clothed and taken care -of when she could not take care of herself, always in the way, always crying and wailing and troubling day-. and night. She al- most blamed the baby for everything. Perhaps she would not have lost her lover if it had not been for the baby. Perhaps he knew what a trouble it would be, and wanted to be rid of her before it came, and that wawa why he had gone away. The night Joan had brought her home she'had taken care of the child, and told Liz to bit down and rest, and had sat down herself with the small creature in her anus, and after watching her for a while, Liz had broken out into sobs, and slipped down upon the floor. at her feet, hiding her wretched, pretty face upon her fnend's knee. "I canna abide the sight o' it," she cried. "I canna see what it war born fur, mysen. I wish I'd deed when I wur i' Lunnon—when he cared fur me. He wor fond enow o' me at th' first. He could ns abide me to be out o' his sight. I nivver.wurso happy i' my life as I wur then. Aye ! I did nit think then as ah' toime ud come when he'd cast me out i' th' road. He had no reet to do it," her voice raising hysterically. "He had no reet to do it, if he wur a gentleman; but it seems gentlefolk can do owt they please. If he did na mean to stick ta one, why rend(' na he ha' let me a,be." °1 " That is ns gentlefolks' way, said Joan, bitterly, "but if I wur i yo're place, Liz, I would na hate th' choild. new to her perfect strength. She carried it here and there, she cradled it upon her knees, when she sat down by the fire to rest; she learned in Use a hundred gentle woman's ways through its pres- ence. Her step became lighter, her voice softer—a heavy tread, or a harsh tone might waken the child For the child's aake she doffed her uncouth working -dress when she entered .the house; for the child's sake she made an effort to brighten the dullness and soften the roughness of their surronndings. The Reverend Paul, in his visits to the house, observed with tremor thesub- tie changes wrought in her. Catching at the straw of her negative welcome; ahe went to see Liz whenever he could find a tangible excuse. He had a sensitive dread of intruding even upon the poor privacy of the "lower orders," and he could rarely bring himself to the point of taking them by storm ash mere matter of ecclesiastical routine. But the often- er he saw Joan Lowrie, the more heavily she lay upon his mind. Every day- his conscience smote him more sorely for his want of success with her. And yet how could he make way again t her indiffer- ence? He even 'felt himself a trifle spell -bound in her presence. .He often found himself watching her es she moved tp and fro—watching her as Liz and the child did. But "th' parson was "th' parson" to her still. A good-natured, simple little fellow, who might be a trifle better than other folks, but who certainly seemed weaker; a frail little _gentleman In spec- tacles, who was afraid of her,• or was at least easily confounded, who might be of use to Liz, but who was not in her line— better in his way than his master in his; but still s person to be regarded with just s touch of contempt. The confidence established between Grace and his friend Fergus Derrick, leading to the discussion of all matters connected with the parish and parishion- ers, led naturally to the frequent dis- cussion of Joan Lowrie, among the rest. Over tea and toast in the small parlour the two men often drew comfort from each other. When Derrick strode into the little place dhd . threw himself into It has na done yo' as much harm as yo' his favorite chair, with knit brows and ha' done it." weary irritation in his air, Grace was al - After s while, when the girl was quiet- ways ready to detect his mood, and wait er, Joan asked her a question, for him to reveal himself; or when Grace "You river told me who yo' went locked up at his friend's entrance with a away wi,' Liz," she said. "1 ha' a rens- heavy, gained look on his face, Derrick on fur wantin' to know, or I would na al e'cially sympathised with his friend. This was in his feeling for Anice. Duty called Paul frequently to the house, and his position with regard to its inhabitants was necessarily f.►miliar. Mr. liarholm did not spare his curate; he was ready to delegate to him all would do ne good, an' i dunnot care to 1 labour in which he was not specially in - do harm. Yo'll keep it to yo'rsen, if i terested himself, or which he regarded tell yo', ,Tian 1" as scarcely worthy of his mettle. "Aye," Joan answered, "as long as it "Grace makes himself very useful in needs he kept to mysen. i ani na one some cages." he would say; "a certain to clatter." kind of work suits him, and he is able to "Well," maid Lir. with a sob, "it • do himself justice in it. He is a worthy wur Mester handsel! 1 went wi'—young enough young fellow in a certain grove, Mester Landaell--Mester Ralph." ' hut it is always best to e,e fne hint to "i thout as much," said .Joan. her, that grocer face darkening. j So, when there was an ordinary ger- Rhe had had her suspicions from the mon to he preached, or a eomm.nplaee first when Mr Ralph I.andeell had come piece of work to he done, it was handed to Riggan with his father, w ho was one over to thrice, with a few tolerant words of the mining company. He was a of advice or comment, gni as c.menon• graceful, fair faced young feline, with place work was rather the rule than the n open hand and the air of a potentate, ezoepti.on, the Reverend Paul's life was and his grandeur had pleased Liz. Rhe slot idle. Anioe'a manner towards her was not used to flattery and '"fine Lon- father. curate was .n gentle and rarnwet don ways." and her vanity merle her an r• frank and frill of trust in him. that it ruse cietire wisp me to he wondered et chat ,,era deo ax, but fur a' that, if yo' dunnot want to tell me, yo' need na do it against yore will." Liz was silent a moment. "I would na tell ivverybo dy,"she said. "1 would na tell nobody but yo'. it only flied her more firmly in his heart. "I canna help it," sobbed Lia; "an' I Nuthlyg et his cwsucientious labour was can nu more help thinker' on it, than lost t,os her, noti'iing of his self-sacri- th' ehoild theer can help thinkio' on its titre end trod was passed by irdii%.reutly milk. I'm hungeriu' aw th' tubae—rue it■ her thynghta of hire; his pain and his --' I dunnot care to live; I wakken up i' effort w t a. her very heart. Her be- th' weight hungerin' an' cryin fur—ter lief i• h was so strong that she newer what I ha' not got, an' nivver shall hs' h to cavy any little bewilder- ment ewilderment to him, er to speak to hint openly The tears ran down her cheeks and upoa any subiect. Small iisatiel, that he found it delicious pain to go to the house day after day, feeling himself so near to her, yet knowing himself so far from any hope of reaching the sealed chamber of her heart. Notwithstanding her knowledge of her inability to alter his position, Anice still managed to exert some slight influence over her friend's fate. "Do you not think, papa, that Mr. Grace has a great deal to do ?" she sug- gested once, when he was specially over- burdened. "A great deal to du ?", he said. "Well, he has enough to do, of course, my dear, hut then it is work of a kind that suits him. I never leave anything very important to Grace. You do not mean, my dear, that you fancy he has too much to do ?" "Rather too -much of a dull kind," answered Anice. "Dull work is tiring, and he has a great deal of it on his handa. All that school work, you know, papa— if you could share it with him,.I should think it would make it easier for him." "My dear Anice," the Rector protest- ed, "if Grace had my responsibility to carry on his shoulders—but I do not leave my responsibilities to him. In my opinion he is hardly fitted to bear them —they are not in hie line;" but seeing a dubious look on the delicate face op- posite him—"but if you think the fellow has really too leech to do, I will try to take some of these minor matters upon myself. I am equal to a good deal of hard work," --evidently feeling himself somewhat aggrieved. But Anice made no further comment; having dropped a seed of suggestion she left it to fructify, experience teaching her that this. was her best plan. It was one of the good Rector's weaknesses to dislike to find 'his course disapproved even by a she whimpered like • child. The sight a( the silk dress had brought back to her mind her lust bit of paradise as noth- ing he would have done --her ows small store of finery, the gaiety and novelty of London sounds and sights. Anice knelt down upon the flagged floor, still holding the child's hand. "Don't cry," she said again. "Look at the baby, Liz It is a pretty baby. Perhaps if it lives, it may be • comfort to you some day." "May !it wunnot;" said Liz, regarding it resentfully. "I nivver could tak' no comfort in it. It's nowt but a trouble. I dunnot loike it. I canna It would be better if it would ns live. I canna tell wheer Joan Lowrie gets her patience fro.' I hs' no patience with the little marred thing mysen—allus whimperin' and cryi►'; I dunnot know what to do wi' it half th' toime." Anice took it from her lap, and sitting down upon a low wooden stool, held it gently, looking at its small round face. It was a pretty little creature, pretty with Liz's own beauty, or at least, with the baby promise of it. Anice stooped and kissed it, her heart stirred by the feebly -strong clasp of the tiny fingers. During the remainder of her visit, she .at holding the child on her knee, and talking to it as well as to its mother. But she made no attempt to bring Liz to what Mr. Barholm had called "a flitting sense of her condition." She was not fully settled in her opinion as to what Liz's "fitting sense" would be. So ahe simply made an effort to please her, and awaken her to interest, and she succeed - el very well When she went away, the girl was evidently sorry to see her go. "I dunnot often want to see folk twice," she said, looking at her shyly, wholly uninfluential critic, and his "but I'd loike W see yo.' Yo're not loike It was these men who were talking to - daughter was by no means an uninfluen- th' rest. Yo' dunnot harry me wi' talk. gether loudly this evening, and as usual, tial critic. He was never exactly cum- Joan said yo' would ns." Lowrie was the loudest in the party. fortable when her views did not strictly "I .will come again," said Anice. They did not seem to be quarrelling. accord with his own. To find that Daring her visit, Liz had told her Three or four sat round a table listening Anice was regardinv a favourite whim with questioning, was for him to begin to falter a trifle inwardly, .however testi- ly rebellious he might feel. He was a man who thrived ,under encouragement, and sank at once before failure; failure was unpleasant, and he rarely contended long against unpleasantness; it was not a "fair wind and no favour" with him, he wanted . both the fair wind and the Fergus could not help looking out for favour, and if either failed him he felt Joan. Sometimes he saw her, and himself rather badly used. So it seat, sometimes he did not. During the warm weather, he saw her often at the door, or near the gate; almost always ,with the child in her arms. There was might be sarcastic, he was sometimes it, when it had been forgotten by matt severe in his retorts, but he was never people. His record was lot a alma one violent. lis any one else but Mr. Crad• Yid sea rdtngly he was sot a favourite dock, such conduct ought have been of Sammy Craddock's. txonaidered weak by the undo population A short time afterward sowebi.':y of Riggart, w.►• not uufrequsntly settled passed the ,window fading the street, aiid their trilling doutestiu diflieultia wail Lowrie started up with as oath. the poker and taiga, chairs, or Sri irons, "Theer he ig !" he encIaicn.d. Now or indeed with any portable piece of fur it. 1 thowt he'd go this Rad. 111 household furniture. But Mr. Cmsee whey tka'a gettpt to say 1sir thyseu, dock's way of disposing of feminine an- my lad. ! tagouuta was tolerated. It was pretty He was dot in the strt el &Lp3ust before well known that Mrs. Craddock had s Craddock arid his companion had time to temper, and since he could manage her reach the open window, and he had it was not worth while to criticise the stopped the paaser-by, who paused t„ method. confront him haugtily.. •"Tha'rt an owd yammer -head," said "Why !" cried Sammy, slapping his Mrs. Craddock, as oracularly as if she knee," "Fin don►'d if it is na th' Lennon had never made the observation before. engineer chap." "Tha deserves what the has na getten." Fergus Derrick stood before his enemy "Aye, that I do," with an air of and- with anything but s propitiatory air. able regret. "Tha'rt rest theer fur That this brutal fellow who had caused once i' thy loife, Th' country has ns him trouble enough already, should in- ' dune its duty ny Inc. If I'd had aw I terfere with his very progress in the deserved I'd been th' Lord Mayor o' street, was too much for hie high spirit to Lennon by this tonne, an' tha'd a been bear. th' Lady Mayoress, settin' up' thy par- "I conn out here," said Lowrie, "t lour w' a geoid crown atop o' thy owd see if tha lad owt to say to rue." head, cortin' out thy clothes fur th' "Then, replied Fergus, "you may go weshwonan i' stead o' dollyin' out thy in again, for I have nothing." bits o' duds fur thysen. Tha'rt rest, Lowrie drew a step nearer to him. snow." "Art tha sure o' that I' he demanded. "Gu thy ways to th' Public," rotor- "The wort so ready wi' the gab about ted the old dame, driven to desperation. th' Davys this ntornin' I thowt happen "I'm tired o' hearkenin' to thee. Get ths'd luike to say summit more if a mon thee gone to th' Public, or west ha' th' ud gi' yo' a chance. But happen agen world standin' still; an' moind tha do'st yo're one o' th' soart as sticks to gab en' ns set th' horse -ponds affre as tha goes goes no further." by'em." Derrick's eyes blazed, he flung out his "I'11 be keerful, owd lass," chuckled open hand in a contemptuous gesture. Sammy, taking his stick. "I'11 be keer- "Out of the way," he said, in a sup- ful for th' sake o' th' town." pressed voice, "and let me pas." He made his way towards the village But Lowrie only came nearer. ale -house in the best of humours. Ar- "Nay, but I wunnot," he said, until riving at the Crown, he found a discuss- I've said 'iny say. Tha were goin' to ion in progress. Discussions were al- mak' me obey th' rules or let th' mestere ways being carried on there, in fact, but hear on it, wert tha ? Tha wert goin to this time it was not Craddock's particu- keep thy eye on me, an' report when th lar friends who were busy. There were toime come, wert tha 1 Well, th' toime grades even among the visitors at the has na come yet, and now I'm goin' to Crown, and there were several grades gi' thee a thraahin'. " below Sammy's. The lowest was com- He sprang upon him with a ferocity posed of the most disreputable of the which would have flung to the earth any colliers—teen who with Lowrie at their man who had not possessed the thews head were generally in some mischief. and sinews of a lion. Derrick managed to preserve his equilibrium. After the first blow, he could not control himself. Naturally, he had longed to thrash 'this fellow soundly often enough, and now that he had been attacked by him, he much of Joan. She seemed to like to to Lowrie with black looks, and toward felt forbearance to be no virtue. Brute talk of her, and certainly Anice had them Sammy glanced as he came in. force could best conquer brute nature. been quite ready to listen. "What's up in them fellys I" he asked He felt that he would rather die a thou - "She is na easy to mak' out," said of a friend. sand deaths than be conquered himself. Liz, "an' p'r'eps that's th' reason why "Summat's wrong at .th' pit," was the He put forth all his strength in an effort folks puts theiraens to so much trouble answer. "I canna mak' out what that awakened the crowd—which had to mak' her out.' mysen. Summit about one n th' meg- When he passed the cottage on the ten as they're out wi'. What'll thatak', Knoll Road in going home at night, owd lad 1" "A pint o' sixpenny." And then with another sidelong glance at the de - through this discreetly exerted influence -of Anice's, that Grace, t.. his surprise, found some irksome teaks taken from no awkward shrink -mg in her manner at his shoulders at this thine. He did not know, that it was Anice he had to thank such times, no vestige of the clumsy con - for the temporary relief. sciousnces usually exhibited by girls of her class. She met his glance with a CHAPTER VII. grave quietude, scarcely touched with slits ATTEE comae. interest, he thought; he never observed Anice went to see Liz. Perhaps if the that she smiled, though he was uncom- truth were told, she went to see Joan fortably conscious now ,and then that mere than to visit Joan's . protegee, she stood and calmly watched him out of though her interest extended from the Fight. one to the other. But she did nut see Joan, she only heard of her. Liz met her visitor without manifestations of en- thusiasm. She was grateful, but grati- tude was not often a powerful emotion wroth her. But Anice began to attract her somewhat before she had been in the house ten minutes. Liz found, first, that she was not one of the enemy, and did not come to read a homily to her concerning her sins and transgressions; having her mind set at ease thus far, she found time to be interested in her. Her visitor's beauty, her prettiness of toilet, s certain delicate grace of presence, were all virtues in Liz's eyes. She was so fond of pretty things herself, she had been wont to feel such pleasure and pride in her own beauty, that such outward charms were the strongest of charms to her. She forgot to be abashed and mis- erable, when, after talking a few minu- tes, Anice carie to her and bent over the child as it lay on her knee. She even had the course* to regard the material of her dress with some degree of in- terest. "Y o'n getten that theer i' Lennon," she ventured, wistfully touching the pretty silk with her finger. "Theer's noan sich i' Riggin." "Yes answered Anice, letting the baby's hand cling to her fingers. "I bought it in London." Liz touched it again, and thio time the wistfulness in her touch crept up to her eyes, mingled with a little fretful- nees. "Ivvervthing s fine as comes fro Lon. non," she raid It. the grandest place i' th' world 1 dunnot wonder as th' queen lives theer i wur happy aw th' toime f wur their 1 nivver weir so CHAPTER VIII. THE WAGER OF RATTLE t , "Owd Sammy Craddock" rose from his chair, and going to the mantelpiece, took down a tobacco jar of red and yel- low dell, and preceded to fill his pipe with solemn ceremony. It was a large, deep clay pipe, and held a great deal of tobacco—particularly when filled from the store of an acquaintance. "It's a good tha'll Le luiLe to ha a punse on it, fur enow pipe to borrow wi," Sammy was he's a sarappin' youngster, an' nonan so wont to remark. In the second place, 1, easy fears." Mr. Craddock drew forth a goodly por- Da'et to mean to say as I tonna do tion of the weed, and pressed it down it ?" demanded Lowrie fiercely. with ease and precision into the top of "Na ns mon," was the the foreign gentleman's turban which y y, pacific and constituted the bowl. Then he lighted rather hasty reply. "Nowt o' th' start. I on'y meant as it was na ivvery mon as it with a piece of paper, remarking to could.' his wife between long indrawn puffs, .Aye, to be sure !" said Sammy testily "I'm goin'—to th' Public." to his friend. "That's th' game, is it ? The good woman did not receive the Theer's a (eight en hand. That's reet intelligence as amicably as it had been given. "Aye," she said, "I'll warrant the art. When tha art ns fillin' thy belly the art generally either goin' t, th' Pub- lic or comin' whoem. Aw Riggan ud go to ruin if the wert ns at th' Public fro - morn till neet looking after other folks°, business. It's well for th' toun as that's gotten nowt else to do." speedily surrounded them, Owd Sammy eniong the number—to wild admiration. "Get thee unto it, lad," cried the old sinner in an ecstasy of approbation, "Get thee unto it ! Tha'rt shapin' reet balers— 1 lee Why,, Fin dom'd," slapping his "They're an ill set, thit hit, an'• up to knee as usual—"1'm doin d_ if he is ria aummat ill too, I'll warrant. ,He's not goin' to mill Dan Lowrie !"• th' reet soart, that Lowrie." To the amazement of the bystanders, Lowrie was a burly fellow with a sur- it became evident in a very short time, ly, sometimes ferocious, expression. that Lowrie had met his match. Find - Drink made a madman of him, and ing ii necessary to defend himself, Der- arnong his companions he ruled supreme rick was going to do something mote. through sheer physical superiority• The The result was that . the breadths= man who quarrelled with him might be struggle for the mastery ended in •a sure of broken bones, if not -of some- Crash, and Lowrie Ly upon the pave - thing worse. He leaned over the table ment, Fergus Derrick standing above now, scowling as he spoke. him pale, fierce and panting. • "I'11 ha' no lads nreddlin' an' settin' "Look to him," he said to the 'moil th' mestere igen me," Craddock heard about him, in a white heat, "and roman - him say. "Them on yo' as 'loikes to ber that the fellow provoked me to it. tak' cheek nun tak' it, I'm too owd a If he tries it again, I will try again,too.'' bird fur that mart o' feed. It sticks i' And he turned on his heel and walked my crop. Look thee out o.' that theer away. window, Jock, and watch who passes. ! He had been far more tolerant, even I'll punae that lad into the middle id' ; in his wrath, than moat men would have next week, as sure as he goes by." ! been, but he had disposed of his enemy "Well," commented one. of his com- effectually. The fellow lay stunned up- panions, "aw I've gotten to my is, as on the kerbstone, and the blood streamed from the wound when his com- •panions crowded near, and raised him. Owd Sammy Craddock offered no as- sistance; he leaned upon his stick, and looked on with grim satisfaction. "The's gotten what tha deserved, owd lad," he said in an undertone. "An' tha'st getten no more. I'st owe th' Lun- non chap one fro' this on. He's done a bit e• work as Fd ha' takken i' hand my - sen long ago, if I'd ha' been thirty years younger, an' a bit leaa stiff i' th' hinges." my lads, lay in thy beer, an' mak' dent'd Fergus had not escaped without hurt himself, and the first angry excitement over, he began to feel so sharp an achein his wrist, that he made up his mind to He had been a fighting moan himself 1 rest for a few minutes at Grace's lodgings in his young days, and had prided him- before going home. It would be wise to know the extent of his injury. Accordingly, he trade hit, appearance in the parlour, somewhat startling his compertively gentlemanly encounters friend, who was at supper. with personal frieds had always been fair and square, and in many canes had laid My dear Fergus" exclaimed Paul. the foundation for future toleration, even ' 'How excited you Kruk ra amiability. He had never hesitated ti ! Derrick flung himself into • chair, "oak' a punse ' at an offending individual i feeling rather dubious about his strength. Sammy puffed away at his pipe, with- out any appearance of disturbance. "Aye," he consented dryly, "it is, that. It red be a had thing to ha' Us pits stop workin' aw because I had ria fool o• thysens, an' the It get a chance to sleep on th' soft side o' a paving -stone i' th' lock -ups." self particularly upon "allowing his muscle," in Riggan parlance, but he had never been such s man as Lowrie. His attended to em's, an' gi'en th' mestere a but he had always been equally ready t.. all at once. bit n' encouragement. Tha sores mine's shake hands when Ji was over, and in ( 'Do i r he said, with a faint smile. whatth• gentlefolk ea a responsible some cases, when having teinp.oranly 'Don't be alarmed, Grace, 1 have no pcisitkirt i' society Th biggest trouble closed a companion's epee in the heat of j doubt 1 look as i feel. 1 have been I ha,' is settlin' i my m .ind what th' an argument, he had been knowneto !having • brush with that scoundrel Low world 'ill do when i turn up my toes to lead him to the counter of "th' Public," vie, and i believe something has hap - the aware., an' how the government '11 and hestow nectar upon him in the form pened to my wad " happy i' my lde. 1— 1 canna hardly mak' up their mends who shall ha' th' of "sixpenny " But of L.wne, even the He made an effort to raise his left hear to think en it it gt ea me snob a honour o' payin' for the movement.' fighting community, which was the cone hand and failed, soocamhin g t, a pain ' wwaryin' an' longin'; 1 wish i mull go in Mr. Craddock s opinion his akill in triunity predominating in Riggin, eould so intense that it foreed an exclamation hark, i do"-- ending with •soh.the solution of political and 'meldprod* not speak so well. 111 was "ill•fsrrsnt," from him. "Don't think shunt it any more than hems was only equalled by his aptitude and revengeful, ready to fight. but '1 thought it was a sprain." he said. you ran help. said Arrive gently "It in managing the weaker set. He never 1 net ready to forgive. He had tteen when he recovered himself. hut is a lob is eery hart T lire.- inn t run TAY lee his temper with a w.,man Rr kn. wn to Mar a "rtide.e and remember for a anrweaon 1t is i.roks..