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Hardly were the words out of his mouth when more trouble ensued. The canyon broadened and instead of the river being confined in a deep, fast-flowing current, it was spread out into a shallow, dawdling stream. Several times they grounded, there was so little water covering the sand. Here and there rocks stuck above the water, and in places it was necessary to jump out and push the boat into a deeper part. She revived, but on observing the marquis, screamed and relapsed. He hastened to the castle for assistance, inventing, to conceal his disgrace, some pretence for her sudden illness, and she was conveyed to her chamber. “Yes. I was up on the fence yesterday, and Tellef Olsen went past in the alley and hit me in the back with a long switch”—.

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“No,” Bob gasped. “Mig—Miguel got away!” "It is your grand-daughter, Little Red Riding-Hood," answered the Wolf, imitating the child's voice. "I have brought a cake and a little jar of butter, which my mother has sent you." The good grandmother, who was ill in bed, called out, "Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up." The Wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door opened. He leaped on to the poor old woman, and ate her up in less than no time, for he had been three days without food. He then shut the door again, and laid himself down in the grandmother's bed, to wait for Little Red Riding-Hood. Presently she came and knocked at the door: tap, tap. Bob—that was the horse’s name—knew Johnny whenever he went into the stable; there was no doubt about that, for the little horse would turn around in his stall and whinny at the sound of the boy’s step or voice. Of course Johnny always had sugar for him and brushed his pretty coat for him every day—dear, cunning little Bob! The next thing to decide was whether the time had come to tell Mr. Whitney what he had learned. This was easy. He did not have a complete case yet and would not until Ted came back with some sort of report..