She had no rest now till she had found out where the King guarded the reel, and then she made some little white shirts
, and, as she had learnt from her witch-mother, sewed an enchantment in each of them.
"Jacob, bring a bottle!" shouted the host, a tall, handsome fellow who stood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his fine linen shirt
unfastened in front.
And you too, old man, for a shirt
and a cloak would doubtless make up a very pretty story.
And to think that poor old Geppetto sat at home in his shirt
sleeves, shivering with cold, having sold his coat to buy that little book for his son!
"The same shirt
, and he hasn't had it off once in all this time."
Someone moved from the window, and a minute or two later there was the sound of the passage door as it came unstuck, then the latch of the outside door clicked and a tall white-bearded peasant, with a sheepskin coat thrown over his white holiday shirt
, pushed his way out holding the door firmly against the wind, followed by a lad in a red shirt
and high leather boots.
"Who is your BOSS, pocket-handkerchief?" demanded the shirt
, a perfect stranger to me, by the way, for I had never seen him before the accidents of the wash-tub brought us in collision; "who is your boss, pocket-handkerchief, I say?--you are so very fine, I should like to know something of your history."
Ned--or Edmond--mechanically fastened another button of his shirt
and did not reply.
But being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the purple shirt
, who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing but the word clam, Mrs.
She therefore no sooner opened the door, and saw her master standing by the bedside in his shirt
, with a candle in his hand, than she started back in a most terrible fright, and might perhaps have swooned away, had he not now recollected his being undrest, and put an end to her terrors by desiring her to stay without the door till he had thrown some cloathes over his back, and was become incapable of shocking the pure eyes of Mrs Deborah Wilkins, who, though in the fifty-second year of her age, vowed she had never beheld a man without his coat.
"S'pose he CAN'T write -- he can make marks on the shirt
, can't he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrel- hoop?"
In the course of the first week, in one afternoon, he and Joe accounted for the two hundred white shirts
. Joe ran the tiler, a machine wherein a hot iron was hooked on a steel string which furnished the pressure.