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Caleb placed his empty pipe in one pocket, fished in another and drew out a plug of Radiant Star chewing tobacco. He took a generous bite from one corner of the plug and champed it meditatively. "Ner me, either. I guess we'll have to give up the hunt fer t'night, Maurice. Anyways, we don't know jest how to work ol' Harry's fairy arrer." Maurice was climbing a tall poplar standing on the bank of the creek. "I say, Billy," he cried excitedly. "There she is, jest 'round the bend. They've beached her in that piece of woods. It's Joe LaRose an' Art Shipley that took her, I'll bet a cookie. They're always goin' 'cross there to hunt fer turtle's eggs.".
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Conrad
"Surely," she said, "they are not as ferocious as they are said to be?" 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 wind's gone down," said the boy. "Jest a fair sailin' breeze now." "Well, soon after they put old Scroggie under the sod, along comes a nephew of the dead man. No doubt in the world he was Scroggie's nephew. He looked like him, an' besides he had the papers to prove his claim that he was the dead man's only livin' relative. An' as Scroggie hadn't left no will, this man was rightful heir to what he had left behin', 'cordin' to law. He spent a week er two prowlin' round, huntin' fer the dead man's buried money. At last he got disgusted huntin' an' findin' nuthin' an' went away.".
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