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"Then I'll be tellin' ye where I do be gettin' the whisky, Billy; where else but in the ha'nted house." "I had anticipated his doing something like this and had provided against it. Old man Scroggie, the original owner of this land, had left a will, bequeathing all he owned to a young man of this district, Stanhope by name. Scroggie, I knew, was afraid of the will coming to light and I worked on this fear. It was known throughout this community that the one friend old Scroggie had trusted was Spencer, the store-keeper, who, having quarreled with the elder Stanhope over a survey of property, held a secret grudge against his son, Frank." Billy, his arm about Sphinx's neck, spoke. "Come, ol' feller; come here," he said..

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His brother hung his head. "You needn't go to rubbin' it in," he whined; "I didn't have no chance with him. He piled on me from behind, when I wasn't lookin'." He bowed as though to the applause of an audience, and looked the better pleased with Mr Lawrence for having heard him. So Billy watched her passing like a ray of soft light across the valley and around the golden curve of the road. Then with his arms on the bridge-rail, his eyes gazing deep into the amber depths of the water, he lived anew every moment of her nearness, until the hoarse, joyful cry of a crow broke in on his reverie. Croaker, having grown lonely, had come down to meet him. A long, harrowing moment passed. Then quickly and close together four shots rang out. Moll whined dolefully and Billy, peering through the rushes, gave a low whistle of surprise. "Didn't down a single bird," he muttered, "an' by gollies, they've sent 'em right across to us.".