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"Erie out in her boat?" he asked, casually. "I don't hear her voice, or her whistle.","Ho, teacher!" came an answering voice. "We're comin' straight in with the wind. I've got 'em both.","When?","They did?" Mrs. Keeler turned towards Billy and Maurice, her face aglow. "An' was that what they was adoin'? Now I'm right sorry I spoke harsh. I am so. Ain't you, Mrs. Wilson?","No fear, sir," called the Captain over the bulwark-rail, with a steady shake of the head and a smile that merely ran his mouth higher into his cheek. "I've set my 'eart upon making him a lawyer. He shall end like old Mr Greyquill, as rich and as comfortable; and when he's old he'll hang out a white head of hair like a flag of truce, to let the world understand he don't want any more quarrelling.","Worse than usual tonight, isn't it?" he asked in kindly tones.,"Oh, my dear, dear Lucy," he cried, "little can you conceive how the man who carried[Pg 362] you off has made your aunt and me, and his father, suffer!",Captain Acton told Paul to fetch some, and the wild, deformed creature of the forest, as Lucy had called him, sped from the cabin on the errand.,"Miss Lucy Acton aboard this ship!" cried the mate, giving way to his amazement. "Well, I am truly astonished.",His knees knocked together. Unconsciously, his hand felt gropingly back toward the wood-box in search of some kind of support. Mrs. Keeler's deafness was accountable for her misunderstanding of his words. She brought her advance to a halt and stood panting.,It has been said that Old Harbour House stood. The house takes its place as a beauty of the past. On Christmas Eve 1832, fire reduced it to a few blackened walls. All through the long night the flames made a wild, grand show; sea and land were illuminated for leagues and leagues. Out of the ashes of the beautiful building sprang that commonplace phoenix, the local poet, who celebrated the one tradition of Old Harbour Town in a copy of rhymes, of which the first verse should be found imprinted on the title-page of this book.,"Well, hang to 'em tight till we get away from this ha'nted grove. Ghosts don't mind rain none—an' he's liable t' be prowlin' out. Say, can't y' whistle a bit, so's it won't be so pesky lonesome?".