Bob, Son of Battle

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant, Library of Alexandria
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Author: Alfred Ollivant ISBN: 9781465621849
Publisher: Library of Alexandria Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Alfred Ollivant
ISBN: 9781465621849
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint:
Language: English

A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back together into the yard. “Poor lad!” said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer. “Poor heart!” muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly. Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance. “G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!” he panted as he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of the stable, and into the house. In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows, a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at the oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and straggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk. “So yo've coom at last, David!” the woman cried, as the boy entered; and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he returned as affectionately. “I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'. Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie.” And soon he, too, was engaged in a task twin to the girl's. The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare, David at length turned on him. “Weel, little Andrew,” he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in which one small boy loves to address another. “Weel, ma little lad, yo'm coomin' along gradely.” He leant back in his chair the better to criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech, preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his patron a thought cynically.

View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart

A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back together into the yard. “Poor lad!” said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer. “Poor heart!” muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly. Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance. “G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!” he panted as he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of the stable, and into the house. In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows, a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at the oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and straggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk. “So yo've coom at last, David!” the woman cried, as the boy entered; and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he returned as affectionately. “I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'. Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie.” And soon he, too, was engaged in a task twin to the girl's. The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare, David at length turned on him. “Weel, little Andrew,” he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in which one small boy loves to address another. “Weel, ma little lad, yo'm coomin' along gradely.” He leant back in his chair the better to criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech, preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his patron a thought cynically.

More books from Library of Alexandria

Cover of the book My Sword's My Fortune: A Story of Old France by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book Rousseau and Romanticism by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book The Jataka (Volume III) by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book The Modern Regime (Complete) by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book The Sylph, Volumes I and II by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book Marion Arleigh's Penance by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book North Cornwall Fairies and Legends by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book At War with Pontiac; Or, The Totem of the Bear: A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book La letra escarlata: novela escrita en inglés by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book How to Tell a Story and Others by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book Acquazzoni in Montagna: Commedia in Due Atti by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book The Comic History of Rome by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book A Forgotten Small Nationality: Ireland and the War by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book The Flood by Alfred Ollivant
Cover of the book La pêcheuse d'âmes by Alfred Ollivant
We use our own "cookies" and third party cookies to improve services and to see statistical information. By using this website, you agree to our Privacy Policy