Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug-Dec 1913)

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KEEPERS OF THE FLOCK 101 some face was congested and thick with aggrieved blood. ^'Dang 'ee, wumman!" he roared. ''I'll not bide your dawdlin'. 'Tis naught 'ee ha'e t' do froom marnin' t' dusk, whilest I be toilin' an' woikin' t' fill 'ee wi' food. I'm gormed if I'll stand f 'r it. If I doant get my meals at huome, I'll gaw wheer I can !" The cottage shook beneath the angry slamming of the door. In the wreckage of her home Ellen stood, white as ulous at his displeasure, humble, meek — in other words, a wife, a motherto-be. Bess, the pretty barmaid at the Load o' Mischief Inn, was none of these things. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her cheeks glowed with health. She laughed till the old, blackened rafters of the public-room shouted with mirth and the glasses rattled cheerily on the bare tables. Thomas looked at her THE WEDDING the chalk cliffs beyond the downs, her body, piteous in its hint of coming motherhood, shaking in the shock of the bitter words. ''Doant 'ee fret, lass." Old Luke was at her side, fluttering distressfully, like an old, brokenwinged bird over an injured nestling. " 'Ee's in a huff, but 'ee doant mean it — 'ee'll coom raound. " " 'Ee'll fey break my heart, feyther," she sobbed out desolately. ' ' When us walked out together I never thought o ' this, God pity me ! " God pity her ! She was weak, languid, anxious to please him, trem once ; then again ; then he spoke. She answered as life had taught her, coarsely, jovially and broadly. He found her amusing — a good, round, armful of a woman, not all bones and aches. At the end of an hour the new-made husband was leaning across the oak bar, pinching a round cheek that had forgotten — if it ever knew — the art of blushing. "You'm a bonnie lass, be jowned if 'ee ban't!" he crowed, flushed with the strong ale she had served him, his bold eyes hot on the girl's face. "What do 'ee say t' a kiss, eh, dearie "