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Lost Man's Swamp, so called because it was said that one straying into its depths never was able to extricate himself from its overpowering mists and treacherous quicksands, was lonely and forsaken. It lay like a festering sore on the breast of the world—black, menacing, hungry to gulp, dumb as to those mysteries and tragedies it had witnessed. It was whispered that the devil made his home in its pitchy ponds, which even in the fiercest cold of winter did not freeze. "Don't you have nuthin' to do with it, Ma!" he cried. "That Croaker's a witch crow, that's what he is! He's tryin' to tempt you with gold!" That night the fishermen of Sandtown were caught red-handed, stealing Deacon Ringold's harvest apples. Like hungry ants scenting sugar they descended upon that orchard, en masse, at exactly ten-thirty o'clock. By ten-forty they had done more damage to the hanging fruit than a wind storm could do in an hour and at ten-forty-five they were pounced upon by the angry deacon and his neighbors and given the lecture of their lives. In vain they pleaded that it was all a mistake, that they had been sent an invitation via a small boy, from the deacon himself..

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He was out of bed and pulling his braces over his shoulders by the time the heavy footsteps of his mother sounded at the top of the stairs. "If trousers come in legs must go out," said Lucy. "What is the good of being able to make a leg with elegance if fashion compels you to conceal the eloquent member?" Mr Lawrence exclaimed: "Oh, it's you! What do you want?" "Poor ol' beggar," he said gently..