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Locked up! The child’s heart beat stiflingly; yet she did not cry out; she thought self-control would win her more favor than tears. May Nell sat still and smiled modestly. Billy stared at her, feeling still more foolish over his own mistake. “Now ef you would jist play ‘Home Sweet Home’ with variations, my dear, we’ll arterwards hev a game of crokinole. Crokinole is sich an amusin’ game.”.

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“Ain’t she her own aunt?” hazarded Mr. Wopp, abstractedly thrusting his hammer into his boot top and scratching his bald head with a pair of pincers. He indicated a fair-haired child, a baby in size, though her face gave hint of more years than her slender body. She wore woman’s shoes, and one was torn; a draggled skirt pinned up in front and trailing behind; and a folded sheet drawn around her shoulders. Yet no incongruity of dress could disguise the refined beauty of her face, or of her uncovered hair. It was on the first of these busy days in San Francisco that the big counterfeiter saw at a distance May Nell’s father; saw the child’s pictures posted in the galleries, hurried back to the “Ha’nt,” and planned the kidnapping as a chance for “getting even” with Mr. Smith, who had discharged him years before for dishonesty. But Billy had thwarted him, brought him safely to justice for all of his crimes. “Here! Sit down on the bank.” Billy himself was trembling so he felt it safer to see Jimmy sitting. “I’ll get—Twinnies, run, run to the tank and wet your handkerchief. Quick!”.