Unmarked6698
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He sighed and turned to glance back at the cottage resting in the hardwood grove. It looked very homey, very restful to him, beneath its vines of clustering wild-grape and honeysuckle. It was home—home it must be always. And Mary loved it just as he loved it; this he knew. She was a fine woman, a great helpmate, a wonderful wife and mother. She was fair minded too. She loved Billy quite as much as she loved her own son, Anson. Billy must be more careful, more thoughtful of her comfort. He would have a heart to heart talk with his son, he told himself as he went on to the barn. "But he won't. If he does she'll tan him good fer goin' off an' leavin' you by yourself. You tell him he'll have to wait around here till you get back. He'll do it, all right. There he comes through the grove now. Better crawl back to where Ma left you." "After a little we saw a light 'way out on the lake. It stayed where it was an by an' by we heard oars. A boat landed an' a man Hinter called Cap'n, came across to where he sat by the fire.".
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Conrad
A very short silence followed Mr Lawrence's delivery. Mr John Eagle then said: "You'll find, sir, that when the crew comes to larn that this voyage ain't bein' made to Kingston, Jamaica, but to another place, they'll tarn to and refuse to work the ship, as their agreement was for Kingston and nowhere else." Hidden safely behind a clump of cedars Billy had watched and listened. He had heard Scroggie tell the storekeeper that he and his family had come to Scotia to stay and that he intended to cut down the timber of the big woods. He had then demanded that Spencer turn over to him a certain document which it seemed old man Scroggie had left in Caleb's charge some months before his death. Billy had seen Spencer draw the man a little apart from the others, who had gathered close through curiosity, and had heard him explain that the paper had been taken from his safe on the night of the robbery of his store. Scroggie had, at first, seemed to doubt Caleb's word; then he had grown abusive and had raised his riding-whip threateningly. Here Billy, having heard and seen quite enough, had acted. Placing his basket gently down on the sward he had picked up an egg and with the accuracy born of long practice in throwing stones, had sent it crashing into Scroggie's face. Gasping and temporarily blinded, Scroggie had wheeled his horse and galloped away. He was a man of rough appearance whose hand had been in the tar-bucket for most of his life—a hard, reserved man, shy, so ignorant that he read with difficulty, and wrote his name as painfully as a hand tortured with gout inscribes with the pen. "Oh," said Mr Lawrence, waking up, "here is a packet left by Miss Acton for you for your feet." He handed him the sulphur..
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