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"I'm well, thanks," and Billy gazed innocently back into Caleb's eyes. "I hope your rheumatiz is better, Mr. Spencer." "I hope your cold is better, Mr Greyquill," said she, making to proceed in her walk. "Well, he should have, but I didn't let him. I thought I'd like to own a snake as plucky as that, so I caught him—didn't have no trouble, he was awful tired—an' brought him up here to the menagerie.".
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Caleb Spencer, proprietor of the Twin Oaks store, paused at his garden gate to light his corncob pipe. The next three hours would be his busy time. The farmers of Scotia would come driving in for their mail and to make necessary purchases of his wares. His pipe alight to his satisfaction, Caleb crossed the road, then stood still in his tracks to fasten his admiring gaze on the rambling, unpainted building which was his pride and joy. He had built that store himself. With indefatigable pains and patience he had fashioned it to suit his mind. Every evening, just at this after-supper hour, he stood still for a time to admire it, as he was doing now. "Ay, but I wasn't paid to lose my leg," called out the man. She gazed into his radiant face with serious eyes. "But Frank," she whispered, "it may be cold and dismal next week, I—I always thought that I should like our wedding to be—-" "Oh he is, eh? Well, tell him to come out here; I want to see him.".
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