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One bright morning in April in that memorable year 1805, Captain Charles Acton, R.N. (retired), stood on his lawn in front of the house watching a gardener who was at work at a flower-bed. He was a slightly-built but tall, very gentleman-like man, one of the last in a crowd to be picked out as a seafarer. He was pale, his nose aquiline, lips thin, and the expression of the mouth firm. He was dressed in a frill shirt, loose cravat of white cambric, red-striped waistcoat, long green coat with a high collar and small cuffs, tight breeches to the ankle buttoned to the middle of the thigh, and top-boots; a rather low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat sat somewhat cocked on his head. His hair was long, without powder, and tied a little way down the back in a sort of tail. "Well, I don't say that they are. That job was not done by any amateurs, though. The men who broke into Spencer's store were old hands at the game. I was at the store and had a look over it. I've seen the work of professional burglars before. These fellows made a clean sweep and left not a single clew. Still, I made my own deductions. I can't tell you more until I have proved my suspicions correct. Hush!" he warned, "she's coming. I must be hitting the trail for the Settlement." The voice choked up and a tear splashed down on the hand clenched on her lap..

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The woman raised her hands in consternation. He contrasted her wretched bed on that cabin floor with her home bedchamber which he figured—he had never entered it; a room sweet-scented with the flowers of the creepers at the windows, white and fair in the apparel of a girl's bower of rest, elegant in its equipment as were all the rooms of the home of the Actons. "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?" Erie laughed softly, "I know very well you've had a hand in his reform, Billy," she said..