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"Say, Billy," he cried, "your Ma an' Pa's there." Billy's eyes opened wide. "Misjedged him?" he repeated. Sir William again asked Captain Acton if he had heard the news..

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He sighed and turned to glance back at the cottage resting in the hardwood grove. It looked very homey, very restful to him, beneath its vines of clustering wild-grape and honeysuckle. It was home—home it must be always. And Mary loved it just as he loved it; this he knew. She was a fine woman, a great helpmate, a wonderful wife and mother. She was fair minded too. She loved Billy quite as much as she loved her own son, Anson. Billy must be more careful, more thoughtful of her comfort. He would have a heart to heart talk with his son, he told himself as he went on to the barn. A grin rippled across his face and grew into a chuckle. "I bet I sleep in the barn fer a week. I sure hate the smell of sulphur." "I'll put it low to make sure," responded Captain Weaver, "and call it a hundred and twenty-five miles a day, though a hundred and fifty would be nearer the mark." "Why, your honour, she says whilst I hold the tray, 'What are you?' 'I'm the ship's steward, your ledyship,' says I. 'Ay, but what else?' says she. 'What forest was you caught in?' I didn't understand her, sir, and didn't answer. 'Do you come from Africa?' says she, 'or have you broke loose from a travelling wild beast show?'".