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“Yes, little John?”,Crown'd their brows with closing flow'rs,“You are a good Dad!” cried Bob, putting an arm around the older man’s shoulders and hugging him unashamedly. “Whiskers—that is, Steve Whitney—wrote and told me to report to him as soon as I could. Then I have your permission to go West just as soon as school closes?”,BLUE BEARD,“No, I do not believe he is.”,Here let us sport,,“We’re going to my shack to talk this out. Come along. I want Feather-in-the-Wind and Jerry too. Hoyt, find Mr. Taylor and ask him to report to me at once!”,There! he had it! Not that he was altogether sure of its being a text exactly, but it was so beautiful! Then Johnny Blossom, with his head on one side, his little snub nose almost touching the paper, wrote, with extraordinary slowness, because the writing was to be so very, very good:,Pshaw! What a beastly wind! He could scarcely hold the umbrella, and as for Tellef’s steering, it was downright stupid. Oh, oh! Was the boat going to upset? It was a lively time. The boat flew like an arrow, the waves were high, the wind—really he could not hold the umbrella much longer. My, oh, my! how far out they were now. The boat took in water every minute—whole buckets full. Johnny Blossom’s blouse was sopping wet.,Her lover sinking back, endeavoured to conceal his emotions, but the deep sobs which agitated his breast betrayed his anguish, and the tears of every spectator bedewed the sacred spot where beauty, sense, and innocence expired.,“My dear John! You do not try lifting the child at arm’s length, as you say?”,It is pleasant to sport "round the stem of the jolly old tree" in congenial company, and to renew our youth at the bidding of this gracious Toastmaster, the centennial of whose birth we shall celebrate presently; the anniversary of whose death was yester-e'en..