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"Yep, she does jest that. She don't seem to know any better. Birds an' animals are queer that way. Why, even a weasel'll nurse a baby rabbit along with her own kittens if it's hungry." "That night Maurice Keeler an' me went over to Gamble's an' borrowed his old ferret. He's a big ferret an' he'll tackle anythin', even a skunk. With some keg-hoops an' a canvas sack we had made what we needed to catch the weasels in. Then we put a muzzle on the ferret, so he couldn't fang-cut the weasels, an' we went over to Scraff's. As soon as Joe Scraff saw the ferret he began to see light an' turned into the house to get his shotgun. I told him to remember his promise to let me get the weasels alive, so he set on the fence an' watched while we got busy. It was half-past seven in the morning; the[Pg 340] sky was blue from line to line, but the monotony of the morning's brilliance of azure was relieved by a few little steam-white clouds which floated small violet island shadows under them. The horizon was a clear line, a sweep of crystal against the blue crystalline heaven it brimmed to..

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"I could never marry Hinter," she had said. "I love one man—and to him I shall be true, always." "My dear sister, we are going to do nothing of the sort. Not that a voyage to the West Indies in such a vessel as the Aurora would be a fearful adventure or a terrible ordeal. Indeed I never look at that little ship," said he, turning his eyes in the direction of the schooner, "without a longing to be on her deck when she is fully clothed, when the liberal breeze of the sea blows steadily, and when bending under her white heights she springs like the flying fish from one sparkling sea to another, cradled always by the rocking hand of the swell." Next day was Sunday and Billy did not like Sundays. They meant the scrubbing of his face, ears and neck with "Old Brown Windsor" soap until it fairly cracked if he so much as smiled, and being lugged off with his parents and Anse to early forenoon Sunday School in the little frame church in the Valley. There was nothing interesting about Sunday School; it was the same old hum-drum over and over again—same lessons, same teachers, same hymns, same tunes; with Deacon Ringold's assertive voice cutting in above all the other voices both in lessons and singing and with Mrs. Scraff's shrill treble reciting, for her class's edification, her pet verse: "Am I nothing to thee, all ye who pass by?"—only Mrs. Scraff always improvised more or less on the scriptures, and usually threw the verse defiantly from her in this form: "You ain't nuthin to me, all you who pass me by." "And now," she whispered, "there lie the days of sunshine and happiness ahead of us, Frank; and oh, how we will enjoy them, you and I and Billy.".