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The boy shook his head. "I dunno; them cricks shouldn't be that way; they're all spring-fed. Maybe you know?" looking straight into Hinter's eyes.,

Wilson did not answer. He was listening for the stairs to creak, telling him that Billy had left his eaves-dropping for the security of the loft.,

From his pocket Hinter drew a flat bottle and poured a portion of its contents into a glass. Gently raising the emaciated form to a more comfortable position, he held the glass to the blue lips. Under the stimulant of the brandy Landon rallied.,

This interior presented a very inhospitable look; its rough-hewn bunks might have been intended for the accommodation of prisoners. The deck was without carpet. Indeed the only colour or warmth which this melancholy hole presented to the eye or the mind was to be found in such wearing apparel as swung from hooks, in Mr Lawrence's sea-chest, in the nautical instruments, in the shelves with their little burden of tin box, a few books, and so forth.

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Billy thought a moment. "Say, how'd you like to go out in my punt, on Levee Crick? I kin show you some cute baby mushrats an' some dandy black-birds' nests. It's not far away. We go 'cross that big fallow and through a strip o' hardwoods an' then we climb a stump fence—an' there's the crick. It's an awful fine crick, an' plumb full of bass an' pike. Say, will you go?",

"Is Mr Eagle on board?" asked Miss Acton.,

"Croaker brought you that?" he gasped. "Well, I'll be shot!" Billy stood up and gazed about him. "Where's Croaker now?" he asked.,

"Rascally things can be done at sea, sir," said Captain Weaver, whose face, instead of gaining in the look of amazement that had coloured it on his entrance, was slowly settling as Captain Acton proceeded into an expression of hard-a-weather composure. With such a look perhaps a thoroughbred, stout-hearted British sailor would view the calamity or catastrophe that was pressing strong men down upon their knees in devotion, and causing tears of terror to flow from the eyes of others.