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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"The Seaboard Parish Volume 1"

I am going to explore a little
of this desert island upon which we have been cast away. And you, Connie,
just to please Wynnie, must try and go to sleep again."
Wynnie ran for her bonnet, a little afraid perhaps that I was going to talk
seriously to her, but showing no reluctance anyhow to accompany me.
Now I wonder whether it will be better to tell what we saw, or only what we
talked about, and give what we saw in the shape in which we reported it to
Connie, when we came back into her room, bearing, like the spies who went
to search the land, our bunch of grapes, that is, of sweet news of nature,
to her who could not go to gather them for herself. It think it will be the
best plan to take part of both plans.
When we left the door of the house, we went up the few steps of a stair
leading on to the downs, against and amidst, and indeed _in_, the rocks,
buttressing the sea-edge of which our new abode was built. A life for a
big-winged angel seemed waiting us upon those downs. The wind still blew
from the west, both warm and strong--I mean strength-giving--and the wind
was the first thing we were aware of. The ground underfoot was green and
soft and springy, and sprinkled all over with the bright flowers, chiefly
yellow, that live amidst the short grasses of the downs, the shadows of
whose unequal surface were now beginning to be thrown east, for the sun was
going seawards.


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