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She shrunk involuntarily at the sound, and pursuing the windings of the cavern, fled into its inmost recesses. Here she had not been long when the voices sounded through the cave, and drew near. It was now evident that Hippolitus was conquered, and that her enemies were in search of her. She threw round a look of unutterable anguish, and perceived very near, by a sudden gleam of torchlight, a low and deep recess in the rock. The light which belonged to her pursuers, grew stronger; and she entered the rock on her knees, for the overhanging craggs would not suffer her to pass otherwise; and having gone a few yards, perceived that it was terminated by a door. The door yielded to her touch, and she suddenly found herself in a highly vaulted cavern, which received a feeble light from the moon-beams that streamed through an opening in the rock above.,

It was different with Father. When he looked troubled, Mother said he was worried about money matters, and that we had to be very careful with our money. Pshaw! Why must some people be so careful about money, and some ride on fine saddle horses, and some have nothing but fish to eat, morning, noon, and night?,

Bob was not gagged. Probably his captors were certain that no matter how hard he yelled there would be no one near enough to hear. That being the case, the boy decided that it was useless to wear out his lungs. So he kept his tongue still and suffered in silence.,

At home that day they had been baking the Christmas cakes. Johnny Blossom had eaten not a little of the raw dough, and his sister Asta and he had made some cakes of remarkable shapes (though rather dingy from much handling), which they were allowed to bake.

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In the late afternoon of the second day, after they had slipped silently by the towering walls of the canyon which here came down sharply into the river, and had swung around a bend, Jerry sighted the first rough going.,

“Pull in to shore, Bob,” he said quickly. “We’d better take a look at what’s coming before we tackle it.”,

He was just sick and tired of seeing those apples in that good-for-nothing garden. Good-for-nothing it certainly was, and very, very old. There was only one apple tree besides the one Johnny was so interested in, but its fruit could scarcely be called apples at all. He would call them croquet balls—such hard green things as they were—hard as rocks. Of course if any of them were on the ground, he bit into them. In fact, he had eaten a good many of them first and last, but they were horrid things, anyway.,

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