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"Yes, sir," answered Lucy. "I paid her a visit with papa when she returned home before this voyage, but I was never in her cabin." Scroggie nodded. "Drowned through an air-hole in the lake. Say, Billy, do you skate?" "No, sir, she carries no royals.".

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Billy considered. "I'll try," he promised, "but it's goin' to take a whole lot of coaxin' to do it. That old witchcoon has been prowlin' down through the tamarack swale huntin' copperhead snakes for a week now, gettin' ready to do fer somebody er other." Reading in the dry, suffering eyes she had turned upon him a purpose stronger than life itself, what could he do but take her in his arms and ask her to forgive him for the old meddler he was? Perhaps he had erred in this. He did not want to think so. But she looked so much like her mother that morning it might be— Her natural colour had not wholly faded from her cheek, but the bloom was very faint indeed, once removed only perhaps from pallor, so that her eyes, which in the full glow of her beauty were as a sorceress's for liquid softness and the lambent lights of passions and emotions, making one think of a dark midnight sea illuminated by the moon, gathered a keenness of outline, a vitality of colour and play which of themselves would have suffered her to pass as the mad girl she was or figured to be. Like a flash Billy was on his feet. "Stop!" he cried, his voice ringing out like a challenge. "You don't whip her if I know it.".