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The boat scraped against the wharf. Mother went about, uncovering mirrors and furniture until the room which was called the white salon showed all white and yellow, with its gilding and its silken damask cushions gleaming in the strong September sunlight. For that was just the way the trouble began. He had been walking on his tallest stilts the whole afternoon—the stilts that were exactly, to the dot, one yard fifteen inches and a half tall—and then had sat himself on the fence along the back alley. He was facing the yard, with his back toward the alley, and that disgusting Olsen boy came past and gave him a dig in the back with that sharp stick. Just think of it! Wouldn’t anybody say it was unbearable?.

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Jerry again! Jerry, on whom the Indian was keeping a firm grip. He next passed through a large courtyard paved with marble, ascended the staircase, and entered the guard-room, where the guards stood, drawn up in line, their carbines shouldered, and snoring their loudest. He traversed several rooms with ladies and gentlemen all asleep, some standing, others seated. At last he came to one covered with gold, and there on a bed, the curtains of which were open on either side, he saw the most lovely sight he had ever looked upon—a Princess, who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen, and whose dazzling beauty shone with a radiance which scarcely seemed to belong to this world. He approached, trembling and admiring, and knelt down beside her. “It’s my party,” continued John, “and I am to invite as many as I please.” “Don’t you like my singing, Mother?”.