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In turning up the ground of the cell, it was discovered that it communicated with the dungeon in which Ferdinand had been confined, and where he had heard those groans which had occasioned him so much terror. “It was queer there weren’t more, but none of the apples would fall in the basket, and they would whack right down on the ground, and so they got bruised—and then we ate them, you see, Mother.” SUPERSTITION.
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Conrad
Bob looked up to see a young fellow of about his own age coming towards them. He was rather tall and dark and dressed in khaki, and wore canvas leggins. It was the costume of a regular civil engineer, thought the boy from the East. “You won’t need to take a bath after this. If you don’t have about five unexpected ones during the day I miss my guess.” Yet so ardently onwards they press, From where they were sitting, screened by the undergrowth, they could see a section of a rough path that led up the hillside. For a long time nothing happened. As the Indian did not speak, Bob felt it best to remain quiet also. Probably there was a reason for it. The delay did not worry him much, however, as there was plenty of material for his mind to be busy with. Ever since he had talked with Mr. Whitney, events had tumbled upon him one after another. Mr. Whitney had gone and Ted was doing outpost duty. Jerry was on the other side. Only the Indian was left to him and he was not much of a counselor. True, he was beginning to prove himself a great help but through the limitations of language he could not be used to discuss what ought to be done regarding the things they found out. What the outcome of the mess was to be was beyond Bob’s imagination to foresee. He was determined to do what he felt was his duty, and if the consequences were serious it could not be helped..
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