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Lucy had now taken her seat at the piano,[Pg 74] and as the airs her aunt desired were well known to her, she played them from ear, whilst Miss Acton in her stiff-backed chair, kept time, with much facial demonstration of enjoyment, with her starched cap and hood. "Gard bless your worship," said the old man in a sweet voice and a face beautiful with the touches of the pencil of time upon a countenance originally open, gracious, and good, "I ha'nt received a letter since her last from my poor old woife, and that 'ull be twenty year ago, as I know by the laying of the foundation stone——" Mr Lawrence broke away, and asked no more questions during the rest of his walk. Harry lifted the little tin box to his knees and opened it. From it he brought forth a conglomeration of articles. There were queer little disks of hammered brass and copper, an egg-shaped object that sparkled like crystal in the lamplight, a crotch-shaped branch of a tree. As he handled those objects tenderly the old man's face was tense and he mumbled something entirely meaningless to the watchers. Finally, with an exclamation of triumph, he brought forth a piece of metal the size and shape of an ordinary lead pencil..
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Conrad
"That I know well," spoke the father eagerly. "Ever since my clutch on life has been weakenin' I've worried at the thought that perhaps I may leave her unprovided for. You have lifted the load, my friend. I will speak to Erie and place your proposal of marriage before her. She's a good girl; she'll be guided by her father in the matter." When Billy reached the loft, Anson was standing in the center of the room, smashing with clenched fists at the empty air. Billy sat down on his bed and grinned. "You will run straight into trouble, in spite of all I say, Anse," he said gently. "It's all your own fault; you will be a tattle-tale." Billy felt his back-bone stiffen in resentment. Then he noted that the milk snake, which he had thought snugly asleep in his coat pocket, had awakened in the warmth of the little cabin and slipped from the pocket and now lay, soiled and happy, beneath the rusty stove. He saw his opportunity to get back at O'Dule for his scoffing. "You might tell him that he's an angel if you wanter lie to him," returned Shipley, "or that he's a canny old skin-flint, if you wanter tell him the truth. I reckon, though, sonny, you best tell him that we'll be along 'tween ten and leven..
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