“You are all I’ve got, son,” was the quiet reply. “I must let you do the best you can for yourself.”,
“No,” said he hastily—and his clear young voice, though emphatic, had a note of childish fear—“no, I don’t want to, Uncle; I don’t want to stay here now that Uncle Isaac is dead”—,
“I think we’d better go back to camp. The shooting over there sounds as if our part of the job is over. Think so?”.
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