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"That's Elgin Scraff and Tom Holt comin' to look fer us," cried Maurice. "No, surface." "Where did the boy go?" he asked. "He must have been wet to the skin.".

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The Admiral looked deaf, and continued to stare at the door, which in a few moments was again flung open, and Mr Greyquill entered. The sehoolhouse stood with a wide sloping green before it and a tangle of second growth forest behind it. It was not an old building, but had the appearance of senile old age. Its coat of cheap terra-cotta paint had cracked into many wrinkles; its windows looked dully out like the lustreless eyes of an old, old man. The ante-room roof had been blown off by a winter's gale and replaced inaccurately, so that it set awry, jaunty and defiant, challenging the world. Its door hung on one hinge, leaning sleepily against a knife-scarred wall. A rail fence ran about the yard which was filled to choking with a rank growth of smart-weed. In one corner of the yard was a well with a faded blue pump holding the faded red arm of a handle toward the skies, as though evoking high heaven to bear witness that it was never intended to lead such a lonely and useless existence. "Croaker," Erie called. At the sound of her voice the crow stopped trying to tear the nosepiece from the lens and cocked his head side-wise. "What you talkin' 'bout, Bill? What thing? Who's it been clawin'? Hurry up, tell me.".