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"What's a reward?",
Lou, bending to caress him, heard Billy give an exclamation, and ran forward. "It's here, Lou," he cried excitedly, "a tin box an' a shot-bag full of gold in a hollered-out log. The bag has been ripped open by Croaker. I'll have to go inside to get the box out.",
"What?" Billy could scarcely believe his ears.,
Croaker, mincing in and out among the rag-weeds, led straight across the yard to a tiny ramshackle building which at one time might have been a root-house. Billy, feeling that at any moment an icy hand might reach out and grip his windpipe, followed. It was a terrible risk he was running but the prize was worth it. His feet seemed weighted with lead. At last he reached the root-house and leaned against it, dizzy and panting. Then he looked about for Croaker. The crow had vanished!
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This letter was unsigned. It was manifestly a rough draft of the posted letter which had been amplified before it was sent. Captain Acton's hand dropped with it on to his knee. He exclaimed:,
Maurice squirmed in torture. Already the burning wild turnip was getting in its work. His throat felt as though it were filled with porcupine quills. He tried to voice a protest against the injustice Billy had done him but it ended in a wheeze.,
He knelt on one knee by her side and tried to take her hand. She started from her chair and recoiled some paces. On which he rose and stood towering in his figure and gazing at her, but with a face whose beauty could not have been more perfected than by the expression of the emotion of his heart.,
"I have wondered why he keeps coming here," she said slowly. "You scarcely need his companionship, now you are busy with your duties. But there," she broke off with a smile, "I have no right to doubt his sincerity; I am sure he has never spoken one word to me that he should not speak and I know he is really fond of you."
"He's tryin' to coax me away from his treasure," Billy answered. "Now, jest watch him."
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He pointed a shaking finger at Croaker. "See that shiny thing that old rogue has in his bill, Lou!" he asked. "What do you 'spose that is?"
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fpiqo-Wong,
It’s a Quan-Yuan
The great dog rose and came slowly across to him. "Good boy!" Billy slapped him roughly on the shoulder, and he whined.
baklk-Xu,
Bingbing-Li
"That new boy; his name's Jim Scroggie. His dad's rented the Stanley house on the hill."
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Halin-Chen Response,
>Of this man, a toothless salt whose face was like an old potato, dark with the weather of[Pg 34] vanished days and covered with warts, an affecting story was told: it was evening, and the room was full of seafaring men, and this man, whose name was John Halliburton, sat at the table with a long clay pipe trembling in one hand and a glass of hot rum and water in reach of the other. Several songs had been sung by members of the company, and some one, by way of a joke, asked old John to oblige. To the amazement of everybody the old man put down his pipe, took off his hat, out of which he drew a large red handkerchief with which he polished his face, and then, fixing his lustreless eyes upon the man who had asked him to sing, broke into a song in a strange, quivering, fitful note, as though you should hear a drunken sailor singing in a vault. The assembly was hushed into deep stillness. It was certainly a most unparalleled circumstance for old John to sing. In the middle of the second verse, some old nautical ballad popular fifty years before, he stopped, put his handkerchief into his hat, and his hat upon his head, and resumed his pipe, gazing vacantly at the man who had asked him to sing.
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