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"She floats in like a swan," said Miss Acton.,

"No. After I've got hold of our supper you kin lilt all you care to. Look here, Harry, you know jest how much use Ma has fer you; if she finds out you're on our place, she'll sick the dog on you. Now you do as I say.",

Erie was waving to him from the kitchen door. "Where's Maurice?" she called.,

"We will now have—" resumed the teacher, then paused to glare angrily at the stove. From every crack in its rusty sides was pouring forth a whitish-yellow smoke that gripped the throat and smelled like a breath from the very pit of darkness. Mr. Johnston attempted to proceed and failed dismally. He was choking, as was every boy and girl in the room.

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He glanced at the door. Mrs. Keeler's square form interposed itself staunchly between him and that means of exit. His wild eyes strayed to the face of his chum. Maurice was grinning a glad, if swollen, grin. There was nothing to do but face the music.,

The cabin was empty. Mr Pledge was again superintending work forward. Mr Eagle kept the look-out. This was the ship's first day from home. The watches had not been set, and it would be "all hands" with the ship's company until the second dog-watch came round. The vessel swayed on the heave of the swell with the ponderosity,[Pg 288] you would have looked for in one of her mould. She creaked in every timber. She pitched rapidly, albeit the blue afternoon hollow was very shallow, but the sullenness of the sturdy round bows was in her longwise motion. If Lucy meant to be sea-sick she was neglecting her chance, for here was movement more fitted to discompose the land-going stomach than the lofty billow that is swung by the storm. But so far this sweet and amazing young lady had proved herself as good a sailor as Mr Lawrence himself.,

"Suits me," agreed Billy, "but jest how? That's the question.",

It was broad daylight when Anson, in response to an angry call from the bottom of the stairway, sat up in bed. Vaguely he realized that in some dire way this glad morning proclaimed a day of doom, but his drowsy senses were still leaping vast chasms of dreamland—striving to slip from the control of saner reasoning and drift away with a happy abandon of dire results to follow. What boy has not had the same experience, even although he knew that a razor-strop, wielded by a vigorous hand, would in all probability accomplish quickly what his drowsy will had failed to accomplish? Anson was just dropping off into the lulling arms of Morpheus when that extra sense, possessed by all boys in a measure and by certain boys in particular, warned him back to wakefulness and a realization of his danger.