It was time to get up. " CHAPTER VI. There it is. That's the job. Run away now, please. McClintock sent his yacht over for us this morning. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. But, I'll expose him. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered.
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