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"Where did the boy go?" he asked. "He must have been wet to the skin." "Oh, Captain Weaver, there are many wicked people at sea!" cried Miss Acton. "Think of the pirates! Think of the slavers! My poor, poor niece!" "Well, Mr Greyquill, twenty-five guineas when I'm paid off on my return home. I can say no more, and can promise no more.".
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"I asked you why you climbed the tree, Billy?" "Say, Billy," he cried, "your Ma an' Pa's there." "Rascally things can be done at sea, sir," said Captain Weaver, whose face, instead of gaining in the look of amazement that had coloured it on his entrance, was slowly settling as Captain Acton proceeded into an expression of hard-a-weather composure. With such a look perhaps a thoroughbred, stout-hearted British sailor would view the calamity or catastrophe that was pressing strong men down upon their knees in devotion, and causing tears of terror to flow from the eyes of others. The teacher advanced, his fears at rest. "My name is Johnston," he said, "George G. Johnston. I was directed here, sir. You are Mr. Keeler, are you not, one of the trustees of the school of which I am to have charge?".
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