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“Not if a person is industrious, John.”,

It was about this period that Vincent was seized with a disorder which increased so rapidly, as in a short time to assume the most alarming appearance. Despairing of life, he desired that a messenger might be dispatched to inform the marquis of his situation, and to signify his earnest wish to see him before he died. The progress of his disorder defied every art of medicine, and his visible distress of mind seemed to accelerate his fate. Perceiving his last hour approaching, he requested to have a confessor. The confessor was shut up with him a considerable time, and he had already received extreme unction, when Madame de Menon was summoned to his bedside. The hand of death was now upon him, cold damps hung upon his brows, and he, with difficulty, raised his heavy eyes to madame as she entered the apartment. He beckoned her towards him, and desiring that no person might be permitted to enter the room, was for a few moments silent. His mind appeared to labour under oppressive remembrances; he made several attempts to speak, but either resolution or strength failed him. At length, giving madame a look of unutterable anguish, 'Alas, madam,' said he, 'Heaven grants not the prayer of such a wretch as I am. I must expire long before the marquis can arrive. Since I shall see him no more, I would impart to you a secret which lies heavy at my heart, and which makes my last moments dreadful, as they are without hope.' 'Be comforted,' said madame, who was affected by the energy of his manner, 'we are taught to believe that forgiveness is never denied to sincere repentance.' 'You, madam, are ignorant of the enormity of my crime, and of the secret—the horrid secret which labours at my breast. My guilt is beyond remedy in this world, and I fear will be without pardon in the next; I therefore hope little from confession even to a priest. Yet some good it is still in my power to do; let me disclose to you that secret which is so mysteriously connected with the southern apartments of this castle.'—'What of them!' exclaimed madame, with impatience. Vincent returned no answer; exhausted by the effort of speaking, he had fainted. Madame rung for assistance, and by proper applications, his senses were recalled. He was, however, entirely speechless, and in this state he remained till he expired, which was about an hour after he had conversed with madame.,

“Is that one of your acquaintances?”,

“How this room does look!” Mother was continually saying.

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Jerry went on with his story. “She told me I ought to be ashamed of myself, big, husky boy that I was, roaming around doing no useful work. Wanted to know why I didn’t stay there and help with the harvest and work for my living. This wasn’t the first time that I had been handed out the same sort of chatter. But I fell for it this time—she was sort of homely and nice. The only thing I was afraid of was the Denver Kid. I knew if I didn’t go back with something to eat he would come and find me and lick the stuffing out of me. I told Mrs. Olson—that was her name—that I would have to go but that I’d come back that night. For a moment I don’t think she believed me, but at last she let me go, giving me quite a lot of grub.,

My, oh, my! How he had pounded Tellef! But he would really like to know whether any one wouldn’t be a little angry if, when he was sitting on a fence not thinking of a thing, some one should come and poke him in the back with a long stick?,

The boys laughed and Jerry called back, “Well, give it to the burro to sleep on then.”,

“I didn’t know what I’d let myself in for. If anything, my life was a lot worse than it’d been before. The Denver Kid was the name of the man who had picked me up and I soon learned that he was a tramp—a hobo. All first class hoboes get boys who go along with them and on whom fall all the hard work. Their pay is in kicks and beatings. And I got my share of both. I found the country to be as he said it was, but we saw very little of it, for the Kid didn’t like walking. He stayed close to the railroad and I saw most of the country from a crack in the door of a box car, or through the flying sand thrown up over us as we clung to a rattling brake-beam.