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"Are you willing to accept the command of the Minorca?",
She answered by relating the story of some of those freaks with which the reader has been made acquainted; she described other acts of madness which had taxed her imagination to devise. She was mad to all who spoke to her because, as she justly said, "it would have been ridiculous for me to have been mad to the Captain and sane to everybody else in the ship.",
"Lucy, my dear," exclaimed Miss Acton, "play 'Now, Goody, Please to Moderate,' or 'My Lodging is on the Cold Ground,' or 'Sally in our Alley.' I do not care which. They are all very beautiful, and I know no song, brother, that carries me back like 'Sally in our Alley.' Do you remember how finely our father used to sing it? He was at Dr Burney's one night, sir," said she, talking to Mr Lawrence, "when a famous Italian singer of that day—who was it now?—she was as yellow as a guinea, and her hoops were so large there were many doors she could not pass through—who was it now? But no matter; after my father had sung she stepped over to him, and curtsying as though she would sit before him, she said: 'I have often heard this song sung and thought nothing of it. But now, sir, I shall ever regard it as the loveliest composition in English music.'",
Wilson sighed and sank into a chair.
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Just as the boys and girls were settling down in their seats and Jim Scroggie was glancing anxiously doorward Billy strode in. He was resplendent in his Sunday best and wore a wild thorn blossom in his button hole. He glanced quickly about the room and caught the glint and sunlight for which he hungered—a smile from the lips of Lou Scroggie. Then he seized Jack LaRose by the scruff of the neck, jerked him from the seat near the door and motioned Jim Scroggie over. "We'll set here," he whispered. "It's close to the outside in case we have to make a quick get-away.",
"Oh, Captain Weaver, there are many wicked people at sea!" cried Miss Acton. "Think of the pirates! Think of the slavers! My poor, poor niece!",
"No, sir. A man came down from the cliffs," answered Captain Weaver, "and I asked him that question, and he said she'd rounded the coast to the west'ard.",
Ringold hung his hat on the stovepoker and got down to business at once. "Say, Tom, I've had an offer for my back hundred. Don' know whether to sell or not. Thought I'd like to hear what you'd advise."
"We have come down to look over your ship, Walter," said the Admiral, sending from the wharf-side a sailor's knowing glance up at the masts and spars of the barque. "You'll not have had time yet, but I trust whilst you're in harbour you will set a good example to others by keeping your gear hauled taut and your yards square to a hair by lift and brace."
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Developer Response,
Down through the night-enshrouded woods the boys made their way noiselessly, Billy leading, Walter Watland, nicknamed Fatty on account of his size, close behind him and Maurice Keeler, Billy's sworn chum and confidant, bringing up the rear. Occasionally a soft-winged owl fluttered up from its kill, with a muffled "who-who." Once a heavy object plunged from the trail with a snort, and the boys felt the flesh along their spines creeping. They kept on without so much as a word, crossing a swift creek on a fallen tree, holding to its bank and making a detour into the woods to avoid passing close to a dilapidated log cabin which in the moonlight bore evidence of having fallen into disuse. As they skirted the heavy thicket of pines, which even in the summer night's stillness sighed low and mournfully, the leader halted suddenly and a low exclamation fell from his lips.
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"Good God!" he ejaculated, "where is she?"
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"I am extremely anxious to relieve you of the burden of maintaining me, and my fixed intention, if I can procure nothing to do between this and next month, is to work my passage out before the mast to the United States. If it should come to the backwoods, I am ready. I confess this life grows [Pg 56]insupportable, and the more burthensome to me because it is a tax upon you, sir."
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Halin-Chen Response,
>"Yep, I saw it last spring—in the Eau rice beds, it was. I was tryin' to find a blue-winged teal's nest. Saw the drake trail off an' knowed the duck must be settin' somewhere on the high land close beside the pond. As I was standin' still, lookin' about, this little water snake come swimmin' 'cross a mushrat run. Jest then I saw a shadder cross the reeds, an' a fish-hawk swooped down an' made a grab at the snake. The snake dived an' come up close to shore. The hawk wheeled an' swooped ag'in. This time the water was too shallow fer snakie to get clear away. The hawk grabbed him in his claws an' started up with him. 'Goodbye, little snake,' I thought, an' jest then I noticed that the hawk was havin' trouble; fer one thing, he wasn't flyin' straight, an' he was strikin' with his curved beak without findin' anythin'. Pretty soon he started saggin' down to the reeds. I jumped into the punt an' made fer the spot where I thought he'd come down. Jest as I got there he splashed into the shallow water. I stood up in the punt, an' then I saw what had happened. The little water-snake had coiled round the hawk's neck an' had kept its head close under his throat. You know that a water snake has two little saw teeth, one on each side of the upper jaw. I've often wondered what good a pair of teeth like that could be to 'em, but I don't any more, 'cause that little snake had cut that hawk's throat with them snags an' saved himself."
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