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"I'd awful like to have Harry O'Dule, too.",
At this moment Captain Acton cried out, halting as he uttered the words with his eyes fixed in the direction of Old Harbour: "Bless my soul! what can have happened? Is the French Flotilla in sight?",
And as she said this she suddenly lifted her eyes half-veiled, dark, and beaming to her father's face.,
"Lord love us!" Mrs. Wilson started to undo her apron. "Why didn't you tell me before, you freckle-faced jackass, you! Lord knows what use you boys are anyways! Think of you, hangin' 'round here askin' fer Billy and your poor Ma at home groanin' in pain an' needin' help. Ain't you 'shamed of yourself?"
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Maurice sat down weakly on a block and wiped his face on his sleeve.,
"No ship of mine departs without my heart accompanying her," said Captain Acton. "I believe I am bound to go in one of them to the West Indies some day or other, but not whilst there's an enemy's cruiser to be met with in the circle of the horizon.",
Mrs. Wilson, arms folded on the white table-cloth, was gazing out of the window now. Perhaps she saw a poor old horse, belly deep in luscious grass, making up for the fasts of hard and stern days, mercifully behind it forever now and enjoying life to the full—the new life which Billy had helped to purchase.,
Shortly after breakfast he left the house and walked by way of the lane to the Harbour.
He drew her a little further among the pines and they peered out to see Croaker alight on the broken-backed ridge pole of the log hut.
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Anson's face reddened. "You needn't get funny!" he cried, angrily. "Any feller's liable to black an eye runnin' agin a tree, in the dark."
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He caught his breath and stood with lifted face, as the white light swept it, lingered on it, drew from it reluctantly.
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Not until he had put some distance between himself and hia friends did he remember that he had not told them the great and wonderful news that had been imparted to him by old Harry. Well, never mind, they would hear it soon. Harry would see to that. He turned into a path that strayed far up among clumps of red-gold maples and ochre-stained oaks. The whistle of quail sounded from a ridge of brown sumachs. Up the hill, across the deep valley, where wintergreen berries gleamed like drops of blood among the mosses, he passed slowly and on to the beech-crowned ridge.
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>Anson's mouth fell open in terror. "You don't mean—" he commenced, then gulped, unable to proceed.
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