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The girl's eyes grew wider and wider with wonderment. "Isn't it strange?" she half whispered, "and beautiful?" "You seem to have managed the stringin' all right," said the father, examining the wooden ducks on the work bench. "A little too much white on the bluebills, I'd say." "Now teacher," said Keeler, the prayer over, "you jest set still, an' I'll send Maurice out after your horse.".

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The schooner was washing slowly along under her three lower gaff sails only, and the frigate that carried everything but studding sails was speedily within ranging and hailing distance. She was the Amphion, without much beauty to detain the eye, unless the gaze climbed aloft where every sail was cut and set with the perfection that was the characteristic of the British man-of-war, and where the running and standing rigging was ruled as delicately against the sky as though exquisitely pencilled on paper, and on high, just under the gleaming button of the truck, shimmered the long pennant in fluctuating dyes like a thread of a girl's golden hair floating on the breeze. But her sheathing was rusty and ungainly with marine growths, and her sides wanted the paint-pot, but the run of the hammock cloths was as white as snow, and her row of cannon and the sparkle of uniform buttons and the colour got from the marine sentry posted here or there, heightened the war-like spectacle to the degree of a marine piece charged with the loveliness of finish and precision and imposing and stirring with the spirit of war. Captain Weaver faintly smiled, slightly glancing at Admiral Lawrence. Mr Eagle stood at the head of the side ladder when Captain Acton and the others stepped on board. At his elbow was Mr Pledge. Some of the crew were grinning, and all seemed to be hugely delighted by what was happening. "Daddy," she cried, running over to kneel beside him. "It was selfish of me to leave you alone.".