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In this he was not mistaken. Miguel produced from around his body a coil of fuse and began joining the sticks of dynamite and placing detonating caps in them. Every muscle in the boy’s body ached to jump from the hiding place and grapple with the man who was arranging such wholesale destruction, but evidently the Indian realized what was going on within him, for he felt a restraining touch on his arm. At once he knew what it meant. The Indian was telling him that it would be foolish to attack the Mexican when he had so much sudden death in his hands. Before they could reach him, no matter how swiftly they acted, the Mexican could throw the dynamite and the damage would be done. There was nothing to do but wait and hope that Miguel would give them an opening when there was more possibility of averting the catastrophe.,

There was once a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so like her mother in temper and face, that to have seen the one was to have seen the other. They were both so disagreeable and proud, that it was impossible to live with them. The younger, who was the exact portrait of her father in her kindly and polite ways, was also as beautiful a girl as one could see. As we are naturally fond of those who resemble us, the mother doted on her elder daughter, while for the younger she had a most violent aversion, and made her take her meals in the kitchen and work hard all day. Among other things that she was obliged to do, this poor child was forced to go twice a day to fetch water from a place a mile or more from the house, and carry back a large jug filled to the brim. As she was standing one day by this spring, a poor woman came up to her, and asked the girl to give her some water to drink.,

He now for the first time stopped to listen—the sounds of pursuit were ceased, and all was silent! Continuing to wander on in effectual endeavours to escape, his hands at length touched cold iron, and he quickly perceived it belonged to a door. The door, however, was fastened, and resisted all his efforts to open it. He was giving up the attempt in despair, when a loud scream from within, followed by a dead and heavy noise, roused all his attention. Silence ensued. He listened for a considerable time at the door, his imagination filled with images of horror, and expecting to hear the sound repeated. He then sought for a decayed part of the door, through which he might discover what was beyond; but he could find none; and after waiting some time without hearing any farther noise, he was quitting the spot, when in passing his arm over the door, it struck against something hard. On examination he perceived, to his extreme surprize, that the key was in the lock. For a moment he hesitated what to do; but curiosity overcame other considerations, and with a trembling hand he turned the key. The door opened into a large and desolate apartment, dimly lighted by a lamp that stood on a table, which was almost the only furniture of the place. The Count had advanced several steps before he perceived an object, which fixed all his attention. This was the figure of a young woman lying on the floor apparently dead. Her face was concealed in her robe; and the long auburn tresses which fell in beautiful luxuriance over her bosom, served to veil a part of the glowing beauty which the disorder of her dress would have revealed.,

Bob shook the sleep out of his eyes and hustled into his clothes. When he came downstairs with Jerry he found that Mr. Whitney had already finished his breakfast and had gone out. So he and Jerry had theirs. During the meal Bob tried again to draw his new comrade out, but the same unwillingness to talk possessed Jerry. Bob rather wondered what was the matter. He had not been used to meeting with such reserve. He remembered also that during the conversation on the porch the night before Jerry had spoken hardly a word but sat in his chair motionless. At last, giving it up as a bad job, he finished his meal in silence. Steve Whitney met them in the lobby.

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One of these days he must carve out a big ship about half a yard long and make it an exact copy of a real ship.,

“That must’ve been some job. I wish we had been here to do it, don’t you, Mr. Whitney?”,

“That was tough,” said Bob sympathetically. “What’d you do then?”,

As she spoke she raised her eyes, which beamed with truth and meek assurance to heaven; and the fine devotional suffusion of her countenance seemed to characterize the beauty of an inspired saint.