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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood"

Really, Kirsty, you ought to have more sense at your
years than to encourage any such goings on."
"At my years!" returned Kirsty, and was about to give a sharp retort,
but checked herself, saying, "Aren't they in bed then, Mrs. Mitchell?"
"You know well enough they are not."
"Poor things! I would recommend you to put them to bed at once."
"So I will. Where are they?"
"Find them yourself, Mrs. Mitchell. You had better ask a civil tongue
to help you. I'm not going to do it."
They were standing just inside the door. Mrs. Mitchell advanced. I
trembled. It seemed impossible she should not see me as well as I saw
her. I had a vague impression that by looking at her I should draw her
eyes upon me; but I could not withdraw mine from the bung-hole. I was
fascinated; and the nearer she came, the less could I keep from
watching her. When she turned into the kitchen, it was a great relief;
but it did not last long, for she came out again in a moment,
searching like a hound. She was taller than Kirsty, and by standing on
her tiptoes could have looked right down into the barrel. She was
approaching it with that intent--those eyes were about to overshadow
us with their baleful light. Already her apron hid all other vision
from my one eye, when a whizz, a dull blow, and a shriek from Mrs.
Mitchell came to my ears together. The next moment, the field of my
vision was open, and I saw Mrs.


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