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Mr. Keeler had finished the reading of the lesson, skipping most of the big words and laying particular stress on those he was sure of, and had stood up facing his class of boys, to ask them certain questions pertaining to the lesson, thereby bringing all whispered conversation to a halt. He cleared his throat and ran a critical eye down the line of upturned faces. When Mr. Keeler asked a question it was in a booming voice that carried from pulpit to ante-room of the building.,Mrs. Wilson sank down on a chair. "Willium's right," she sighed. "Anson's mind is gettin' a little unbalanced. I'll have to put him on diet and feed him slippery-elm bark and alloways.",Caleb Spencer, proprietor of the Twin Oaks store, paused at his garden gate to light his corncob pipe. The next three hours would be his busy time. The farmers of Scotia would come driving in for their mail and to make necessary purchases of his wares. His pipe alight to his satisfaction, Caleb crossed the road, then stood still in his tracks to fasten his admiring gaze on the rambling, unpainted building which was his pride and joy. He had built that store himself. With indefatigable pains and patience he had fashioned it to suit his mind. Every evening, just at this after-supper hour, he stood still for a time to admire it, as he was doing now.,"Oh, say no more, sir, about that. I am pleased with the idea of a Naval officer being in charge of my ship.",Walter moved quickly to execute the order. Mr. Johnston addressed the rest of the pupils. "School is now dismissed until we raise the windows and air the room.",Billy sighed his relief. "Gee, but it's lucky you did," he cried. "That's the very thing Trigger Finger Tim would'a done, ain't it, Maurice?","I aim to call her Lou," he said hesitatingly. "That is if you don't mind.","I wouldn't mind," said Billy.,"You know that you have always had me, Prank," ahe said softly.,He glanced around in search of the boy. "Why, bless my soul, he's gone!" he exclaimed. "There's a youngster you'll need to watch close, teacher," he said grimly.,"It's Anse's. We must have got 'em mixed when we was dressin'.",On the top-most branch of a tall, dead pine, close beside the wood-pile, sat the tame crow, Croaker, his head cocked demurely on one side, as he listened to the woman's righteous abuse. Croaker could no more help filling his claws with chips and dirt and wobbling the full length of a line filled with snowy, newly-washed clothes than he could help upsetting the pan of water in the chicken-pen, when he saw the opportunity. He hated anything white with all his sinful little heart and he hated the game rooster in the same way. He was always in trouble with Ma Wilson, always in trouble with the rooster. Only when safe in the highest branch of the pine was he secure, and in a position to talk back to his persecutors..
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