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"I do not ask you to sing," he said. "Give me but a word, give me but a look. You tear my heart by this behaviour." "But, darn it all, Bill," Maurice objected, "there won't be no ghost to lead the way to the stuff in the daytime." Above, on the placid slope of down close against Old Harbour Town, hung a straggler building or two, lonely in importance, or consequential in some trifling pomp of land; at the point of cliff on Old Harbour House side, a low, pursy lighthouse wheezed at night a[Pg 2] yellow gleam that was a home-greeting or God-speed to some five score fishermen who dredged in these and further waters; and on the brow confronting the lighthouse a venerable windmill revolved its vans against the sky..

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For the second time that morning Mr. Johnston received a violent shock to his dignity. Such rank insubordination he had never experienced before. The black eyes turned on Billy fairly darting sparks. "Take your seat, you impudent boy!" he thundered, "I see I have been too lenient with you. When I am through with the girls I shall flog you until you cry for mercy, and with you the boy who threw that bottle." "Well, then, he did; an' in that will he left his woods an' money to Mr. Stanhope, my teacher." And now, after days of loneliness and nights of terror, Maurice was up again and outside where he could catch the wood-breeze and smell the sweet odor of plants and clearing fires. He wondered how many years he had been away from it all. How old was he now? Why didn't his mother answer his questions? He did not realize that his voice was weak; he had forgotten that his mother was deaf. All he knew was that nobody cared a hang for him any more, not even his own mother. His weak hands clutched at the bandage at his throat, as though to tear it off and hurl it from him. His head sank weakly back against the wall, and the tears came to his eyes. CHAPTER IX MR GREYQUILL'S VISIT.