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"I see it," Maurice replied in guarded tones. "Bill, that light's comin' this way, sure as shootin'." "Be here," said he, "on Saturday next. It may be that I'll give you the berth. No more words. Off with you!" Billy was silent. Should he tell the truth and say that he had carved Ann's initials on the bench and those of Walter Watland beneath them at that young lady's pleading request? No!.
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"That's all right fer you, Bill," returned Walter, "but what's goin' t' happen t' Maurice an' me, supposin' that ghost takes a notion to gallop this way? That's what I want'a know!" "Has she ripped up the mattress?" Sunset was streaking the pine tops with spun gold and edging the gorgeous fabric with crimson ribbons; the big lake lay like an opal set in coral. Fishermen Shipley and Sward, seated on the bow of their old fish-boat, were idly watching the scene when Billy Wilson approached, hands in pockets and gravely surveyed them. "Come, nice old Croaker, tell me where you found the gold," coaxed Billy..
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