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Tom Holt, the proud possessor of a watch, consulted it. "Ten twelve an' a half," he answered, holding the dial to the moon-light. "Sandtown'll be sound asleep. Come on, let's go down to the lake an' make a haul." Just here the whistle of bob-white sounded from a little distance along the trail. "That new boy; his name's Jim Scroggie. His dad's rented the Stanley house on the hill.".

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But a quality of stubbornness was one of Miss Acton's characteristics. "Ay, your honour," answered the fellow with a grin decidedly above a clown's intelligence. He was seated on a stump in the new clearing which sloped to Levee Creek, fingers locked about one knee, battered felt hat pulled over his eyes. The green slope at his feet lay half in the sunlight, half in the shadow. Across from a patch of golden-rod, the cock bird of a fox-scattered quail-covey whistled the "All's Well" call to the birds in hiding. Ordinarily Billy would have answered that call, would have drawn the brown, scuttling birds close about him with the low-whistled notes he could produce so well: but today he was oblivious to all save his thoughts. Mr Greyquill stood up. His eyes had a peculiar light in them, a faint flush was painted on each cheek, and seemed to make whiter yet the whiteness of his brows and his hair..