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"Well, I wasn't exactly born so," explains Mr. Darling, frankly; "Oliver is my name. I rather fancy my own name, do you know; it is uncommon, at all events. One don't hear it called round every corner, and it reminds one of that 'bold bad man' the Protector. But they shouldn't have left out the Cromwell. That would have been a finishing stroke. To hear one's self announced as Oliver Cromwell Darling in a public room would have been as good as a small fortune.",His love at this moment—which is closing upon noon—is standing in her cool dairy upon business thoughts intent yet with a certain look of expectation and anxiety upon he face,—a listening look may best express it.,says Mr. Rodney, airing his bit of Dryden with conscious pride, in that it fits in so nicely. "At all events, you can't call it,,"How is this, grandmothers?" he said. "Here is a camp with plenty of fat meat and back fat hanging up to dry; why do you not give me some of that?",Its tune beneath the trees,,And when Sir George died, Sir Nicholas, as we know, governed in his stead, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell," until a small cloud came out of the south, and grew and grew and waxed each day stronger, until it covered all the land.,"You are Sir Nicholas?" questions she at last, gaining courage to speak, and raising her eyes to his full of entreaty, and just a touch of that pathos that seems of right to belong to the eyes of all Irishwomen.,And indeed the thought of this distant fern is as dear to Mona as to him. For to her comes a rush of tender joy, as she tells herself she may soon be growing in this alien earth a green plant torn from her fatherland.,"What a clever child you are!" says Geoffrey, with genuine admiration. "And what is here?" laying his hand on the third drawer.,She is very careful to give him his title ever since that encounter with his mother.,The old man followed close after it, and as he ran along he came to a place where a great clot of blood had fallen from the buffalo's wound. When he came to where this clot of blood was lying on the ground, he stumbled and fell and spilled his arrows out of his quiver, and while he was picking them up he picked up also the clot of blood and hid it in his quiver.,"It wasn't all politics, of course," he says carefully..