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Billy had to stifle his emotion and swallow twice before he answered: "That's what I'd like you to call me. I'll bet you can't say it, though.",

Anson started to whimper. "I do have bad dreams," he confessed miserably, "but pie an' tarts ain't to blame fer it.",

"Ay, your honour," answered the fellow with a grin decidedly above a clown's intelligence.,

"That I know well," spoke the father eagerly. "Ever since my clutch on life has been weakenin' I've worried at the thought that perhaps I may leave her unprovided for. You have lifted the load, my friend. I will speak to Erie and place your proposal of marriage before her. She's a good girl; she'll be guided by her father in the matter."

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Hinter possessed a well modulated voice whose accent bespoke refinement and education. He had come into the Settlement about a year ago from no one knew where, apparently possessed of sufficient money to do as he pleased. An aged colored woman kept house for him. He held aloof from his neighbors, was reticent in manner, but nothing could be said against him. He led an exemplary if somewhat secluded life, gave freely to the church which he never attended, and was respected by the people of Scotia. With the children he was a great favorite. He was a tall man, gaunt and strong of frame and well past middle age. His face was grave and his blue eyes steady. He was fond of hunting and usually wore—as he was wearing today—a suit of corduroys. He kept a pair of ferocious dogs, why nobody knew, for they never accompanied him on his hunts.,

"The news was communicated to us," said the Admiral, "in a letter which had been written before the ship sailed by a conspicuous member of the crew. A copy of this letter fell into Captain Acton's hands on the very day the Minorca left Old Harbour Town, and my friend immediately arranged to pursue his ship in this smart schooner when she could be got ready.",

Next day was Sunday and Billy did not like Sundays. They meant the scrubbing of his face, ears and neck with "Old Brown Windsor" soap until it fairly cracked if he so much as smiled, and being lugged off with his parents and Anse to early forenoon Sunday School in the little frame church in the Valley. There was nothing interesting about Sunday School; it was the same old hum-drum over and over again—same lessons, same teachers, same hymns, same tunes; with Deacon Ringold's assertive voice cutting in above all the other voices both in lessons and singing and with Mrs. Scraff's shrill treble reciting, for her class's edification, her pet verse: "Am I nothing to thee, all ye who pass by?"—only Mrs. Scraff always improvised more or less on the scriptures, and usually threw the verse defiantly from her in this form: "You ain't nuthin to me, all you who pass me by.",

Maurice scooted for the back door. He returned in a little while with white patches of cream adhering to chin and nose. "Gosh!" he sighed gratefully, "that was soothin'."