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"What have you to do," said Captain Acton, "that we should wait until Saturday?",

"It grabbed me in its bony fingers," whispered Fatty. "Gosh, it tore the sleeve fair out'a my shirt. Look!" And to prove the truth of his statement he lifted a fat arm to which adhered a tattered sleeve.,

She continued to stare at him. Her figure still seemed to shrink as though in her first recoil when he tried to take her hand. Her face then suddenly underwent a change, her mouth relaxed what in homely features might have been called its wild grin; she frowned; her eyes took an unsettled look. There was something in her countenance that could hardly have failed to arrest the attention of any one who had a tolerable acquaintance with the insane. Mr Lawrence seemed to see nothing but Lucy Acton in her beauty.,

"Ah, three illustrious names, sir," said Nelson. "Howe was the greatest of sea officers. Are you gentlemen making a voyage of discovery or of pleasure?"

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"Next mornin'," continued Cobin, "Frank went over to see old Scroggie. He wanted to hear him say what he told him the night afore, ag'in. It was gettin' along towards spring; the day was warm an' smelled of maple sap. Scroggie's cabin door was standin' ajar, Frank says. The ol' man was sittin' in his chair, a Bible upside down on his knees. He was dead!,

She sighed; the distress of her heart saddened her face with a meaning as of tears.,

"Because when the egg's hatched, the little black bird is so much stronger an' bigger than the cedar birdies he takes most of the feed the old birds bring in. He starves the other little birds an' crowds 'em clean out o' the nest.",

"What would they have to say about me?" he exclaimed, with a rather unmeaning smile. "I can believe that Sir William grows weary of my presence, and that he sometimes wishes me at the bottom of the sea. 'Tis a pity that he did so ill in prize money. He was born to no fortune, and married a moneyless lady, and here is my father, an Admiral in the British Navy, obliged to dwell in a cottage fit only to make a dwelling-house for a poet, whose calling is, I believe, the poorest paid of any. I am much troubled," he continued in a maudlin way, "to think that I should continue to be a burthen upon the old gentleman. But I assure you on my honour, madam, if I am[Pg 42] not independent of him this moment 'tis not because I have not been as diligent as Old Nick himself in looking about me. But go where I will and ask where I will, the door is shut, the place is full, the answer is nay. What a sweet little dog is that! How happy to be for ever frisking about you and often lifted and caressed!"