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Maurice, who had climbed the fence so as to get a glimpse of the interior of his home through a window, whistled softly as his eyes took in the scene within. "But Harry, don't you see, that stuff belongs to Caleb Spencer. The thieves must have hid it there, in the ha'nted house." "I must punish each and every one of you," Mr. Johnston reiterated, picking up the pointer. "I shall begin on the boy who is smiling so defiantly in the back seat, if he will be good enough to step up here.".

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Wilson whistled softly. "You don't say!" he managed to articulate. "Why, Mary, it's a pipe!" "Did you say more tea, teacher?" Mrs. Keeler was at his elbow, steaming tea-pot in hand. Nevertheless he determined to await Captain Acton's arrival from the business which was holding him in his library; so he lighted his pipe afresh with his singular little pistol-shaped pipe-lighter and struck about the grounds with his staff, blowing great clouds out of the depth of his meditation, and often heaving a sailor's blessing at the two points of cliff which interrupted the view of the sea to east and west of the coast. This tale induced Captain Acton to indulge in the recital of a hair-breadth escape of his own, but a flow of exciting anecdotes was arrested by Miss Acton declaring that she was not strong enough to bear to hear such horrid, moving stories, particularly just a little before bed-time..