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Ten years of prestige

"There it is!" said Miss Acton. "Give me a sea as smooth as our lawn, and I will accompany you, my dear.",

"I wish, madam," said he, "that you would return to the piano at which we interrupted you.,

"The nature of these instructions I can only guess at from several conversations which I have had with Captain Acton, who without being in any degree specific, yet seemed to suffer me to read between the sentences of his conversation. And now, sir," said Mr Lawrence with great austerity, "this is the communication you will preserve strict silence upon until the sealed instructions are read. My belief is—understand me: I say that the idea I have arrived at from Captain Acton's conversation—is that I should carry this ship to a port that certainly is not Kingston nor is it in Jamaica, though I am unable to say more, and that he wishes this vessel to be handed over to the representative of a South American merchant who does business in London. What the port may be I am as curious as you[Pg 243] undoubtedly now are to learn. I believe also that the whole of us from captain to boy will be paid off at this port and sent to England at Captain Acton's expense, and each man will receive treble the amount of the wages that he would have got for his voyage to Kingston and home. All this I infer from Captain Acton's language, and I may be violating his good faith in me in committing even these conjectures to the strict confidence which I am sure you will observe.",

"But you haven't took yourn!" cried Maurice.

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"It's Croaker," Billy whispered. "Stand right still, Lou, an' we'll watch an' find out what his game is.",

"But he did a braver thing than that," cried Cobin. "He giv' up the girl who was to marry him, 'cause, he said, his days from now on must be useless ones, an' he wouldn't bind the woman he loved to his bleakness an' blackness. Them was his very words, sir.",

"Wounded whistlers aren't as hard to retrieve as redhead or bluebill," said Stanhope.,

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!