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Well, he would not get up yet anyway, since it was raining so hard. He would lie there and sing all the school songs. So he began singing at the top of his voice, “Yes, we love our grand old Norway.” That went splendidly. Then he started another, but that tune ran up rather too high for his voice.,

Just think! There they sat, in the sunshine on the wharf, eating from their baskets and having such a good time; and here was he, alone, naked, and so frightfully cold. Boo-hoo-hoo! He wanted to go home to Mother. He might crawl home through the gutters—but what would Mother say if he went home without any clothes? Boo-hoo-hoo!,

He was now at a loss what course to chuse, for he had no clue to direct him towards the object of his pursuit; but hope still invigorated, and urged him to perseverance. He was not many leagues from the coast; and it occurred to him that the fugitives might make towards it with a design of escaping into Italy. He therefore determined to travel towards the sea and proceed along the shore.,

Bob got up early in order to see the Canyon at sunrise the morning after Steve Whitney went away, but found that in comparison to the sunset it was tame. Yet so inspiring was it that he was glad he had taken the trouble. The panorama spread before his eyes was one of which no other country could boast. Bob had seen pictures of it, had read about it, and had been taught about it from his geography, but nothing that he had read or heard or learned had given him even a faint idea of the glory of the thing as it actually was, no matter what time of the day it was seen.

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A few minutes later a slim shadow rose out of the chaparral. Feather-in-the-Wind spoke in his own language to this newcomer. Evidently this was the brave who had kept note of Miguel’s comings and goings. The conference over, Bob’s friend uttered the one word, “Wait!” and sat down. The other Indian slipped away. Bob followed the example of Feather-in-the-Wind.,

Oh! there it hung by the boiler closet. But what a forlorn, miserable thing! He had not remembered that it was so worn out. Why, it scarcely held together! It was almost a disgrace to have such shabby fishing tackle, especially now when William Holm had that brand-new pole and Philip Krag was going to get one tomorrow. No, this old thing would not do. He positively needed a new outfit, and that meant that he simply must have some money.,

“Well, Bob,” remarked Mr. Hazard when the tale was done, “you certainly had a better time here than you would have had if you had gone to Russia with me!”,

“Indeed,” said Mother.