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Captain Acton with a violent effort had by this time recollected himself. Next morning after Captain Acton had read prayers, he stepped on to the lawn to take the air for half an hour before breakfast, and was immediately followed by Lucy, who had hardly reached his side when Miss Acton appeared on the hall steps and carefully descended the broad flight, leaning on her crutch cane and followed by her pug. A light step sounded on the gravel; the door opened and Erie entered. She was dressed in white. The damp bay-breeze had kissed the golden hair to shimmering life but there were shadows beneath the violet eyes, a dreary pathos about the unsmiling mouth..

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Great mosquitoes whined about his head and stung his neck and ears. Mottled flies bit him and left a burning smart. The saw-like edges of the grass cut his hands and strove to trip him as he pushed his improvised raft forward. Once his foot slipped on the greasy bog, and the quicksands all but claimed him. But he pushed on, reaching at last the black sullen shallows, putrid and ill-smelling with decayed growth, and alive with hideous insects. Each spring the farmers attended the fishermen's annual bee of pile-driving, which meant the placing of the stakes for the pound nets—a dangerous and thankless task. Wet, weary and hungry, they would return to their homes at night with considerable more faith in the reward that comes of helping one's fellow-men than in the promise of the fishermen to keep them supplied, gratis, with all the fresh fish they needed during the season. As he spoke, he saw another boat round the distant grass-point and put into Jerunda cut, the entrance to the main pond. The smile left his face. "Beat us to it, Moll," he sighed to the spaniel whose brown eyes had also glimpsed the skiff. "They'll be set by the time we get in an' they've got the pick of the ponds, no use denyin' that. We'll have to portage 'cross to a back slough an' all the ducks we'll get a chance at are them they miss. Well, cheer up," as the dog, sensing the disgust in his voice, growled deep in her throat. The Admiral sat at table before a meal that betokened total neglect on his part of all thought of digestion. The dinner in short, so far as it had been served, consisted of a round of boiled beef, carrots and turnips, and a dish of potatoes smoking in their jackets, a stout loaf of black crust, a dish of fine yellow butter, and at Sir William's elbow was a silver mug with a thick glass bottom, just filled foaming to the brim from a cask of the very best ale at that time brewed in England, and in those days a glass of fine ale was a more delicious draught, more thirst-quenching, more appealing to all the secret feelings of the interior than the finest liquor that has been drunk since, call it what you will..