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“Here, you men, down stream a bit with that timber. Rutherford, you’ve the right idea—stick to it. Rush ’em up, boys,” to a gang bringing up a supply of planks. “Have you diverted any of the water, Rutherford?”,

But Bob was so queer today. And he breathed so strangely. He had been breathing something like that these last few days, but today it was worse, and he didn’t hurry even when Johnny struck him again with the whip. Finally he almost stopped, and breathed more queerly than ever.,

It was sufficient. Bob walked off unconcernedly but as soon as dark had fallen he went to the appointed place. He had not been there long when the Indian glided up to him.,

Glancing about him, Bob saw no way to get away from the tower without being seen by the furtive newcomer. The moon was high and the ground at the tower’s foot was clear of any cover. Something told him he wanted to know what the approaching figure was up to and he would spoil any chance of that if he disclosed his whereabouts. Happening to glance up he saw that one side of the tower was in shadow. He crawled around to it. Then he had an idea.

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“Yes.” Johnny stared at his mother’s tear-stained face.,

What a clear light green the water was under the wharf! You could see every single snail shell, every starfish, and every tiniest stone on the smooth, light-colored bottom. Whole schools of small fish darted, quick as lightning, between the slimy old piles. Once in a while a lazy eel glided under the wharf, wound slowly in and out, lay still a moment as if to sun itself, then slowly, curve after curve, took itself out again.,

Pshaw! That was always the way! The more pains you took, the worse was the writing. Some of the letters were awfully small and crooked and others were too big; and the whole thing slanted down hill so that there was scarcely room for his name underneath in the corner; and of course his name must be there.,

True as you live, there were no more apples on the tree! It was remarkable how little time it had taken to strip it. And on the steps lay only eight apples, and two of them were bruised! What would Aunt Grenertsen say at getting so few? Well, he must take them in to her.