Oliver Constable, miller and baker, Vol. 3 (of 3)

But whereas Harry had entered on the character, on a fine summer afternoon, in the attractive prospect of hay-making, corn-cutting, and hop-picking, it was midwinter, with no mo...

‘Come along, Fan, to the front door, where the fellow has retreated. Here is a fluke, but the sooner you deal with it the better; you must spoil your breakfast, and have done wi...

The three years allotted by his brother-farmers for Harry Stanhope to run through what small patrimony he had invested in Copley Grange Farm, and what credit he had begun upon,...

The first thing to be done for Harry Stanhope was to get him out of the situation for which he was utterly unfit, into which he had thrust himself—to extricate him from the netw...

The end came, as it often does after long anxiety, when least expected. The travelling party had been under the necessity of staying their wanderings and pitching their tent for...

Death, and not marriage, wipes out offences, clears scores, and opens the bolts and bars of shut hearts a little, for a brief space. Harry Stanhope’s relations mostly wrote to c...

but the next day found him again leading the van. Happy the wounded who have still strength for the fight, and whose presence is yet wanted in the thick of the fray.

or asking for something the sufferer wanted, a man’s figure in professional black, which was yet not the doctor’s, appeared on the opposite side of the bed. Oliver looked up—it...

Jack Dadd was more like a girl than ever—more like even than the puniest of pink and white complexioned lads—with whom to associate the idea of a bold, rude, fox-hunter or a sla...

Oliver Constable’s announcement that he was retiring from the baking business had appeared three times in the Friarton weekly newspapers. The first time it was received with sco...