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The picture was tender and mellow with colour: the springing lights of the early growths of the young year, the venerable face of the cliff as it swept from the slope of down where the windmill was to the beach, the slow motion of violet shadows over green distances;[Pg 12] and the impression of placid provincial life was heightened by the calm in the air which was scarcely vexed by the remote silver ringing of a chapel bell in High Street, Old Harbour Town. "He is?" Billy respected the new boy for the nonchalance of his tones. Riches hadn't made him stuck up, at any rate. "I am much obliged I am sure," said Eagle. He put it to his nose. "I have tried it again and again," he said, "and it ain't of no more use than if you was to rub in snuff. But she's a kindly lady to remember me," said he, putting the packet into his pocket. "And I hope, sir, as when you meet her you'll present her with my humble acknowledgments.".
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Scroggie nodded. "Drowned through an air-hole in the lake. Say, Billy, do you skate?" "But, Billy," she remonstrated, "they'll be expecting you to bring some ducks home, you know." The horse reached forward his long muzzle and lipped one of the boy's ears. "Say horses don't understand!" grinned Maurice. "Gee! I guess maybe they do understand, though." The deacon had pulled up at the Wilson's gate. "He's shoutin' fer Pa," Billy whispered, as a resounding "Hello, Tom!" awoke the forest echoes. "Come on Maurice, let's work our way down along this strip o' bushes, so's we kin hear what's goin' on.".
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