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“Yes,” continued Uncle Isaac. “He who heals instead of wounds, he who does good and helps the needy, he is the greatest, John Blossom.” When Jerry came up he saw what had called forth his comrade’s shout. The boat was lying wedged between two rocks on the opposite shore, one end entirely submerged by the rushing stream. “But you should be among the best, Johnny Blossom.”.

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“You are right, Bob. I am the chief and starting from to-day I will have to be Mr. Whitney. There is another rodman here and it would be bad for discipline if you called me by that—‘vacation’ name, let’s call it. But we had mighty good times when I was just Whiskers, didn’t we?” During this exclamation, the emotions of Julia, who sat in her closet adjoining, can with difficulty be imagined. A door which opened into it from the apartment where this conversation was held, was only half closed. Agitated with the pleasure this declaration excited, she yet trembled with apprehension lest she should be discovered. She hardly dared to breathe, much less to move across the closet to the door, which opened upon the gallery, whence she might probably have escaped unnoticed, lest the sound of her step should betray her. Compelled, therefore, to remain where she was, she sat in a state of fearful distress, which no colour of language can paint. As they rode along Bob ignored Jerry’s evident irritation, knowing that it was caused by his forced presence. He talked about a thousand things. Jerry tried to answer in a light and casual manner but he made a rather bad attempt at it. “Saved my life, I reckon, is all you did. It must have been some job, too, although I don’t know how you did it.”.