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As the door opened, I drew my dirk, resolving to die like an officer, and as they advanced, I retreated to a corner, brandishing my dirk, without saying a word. "Vell," cried the woman who had made me a prisoner, "I do declare I likes to see a puddle in a storm only look at the little biscuit-nibbler showing fight! Come, my lovey, you belongs to me." "Never!" exclaimed I with indignation.

The biscuit-nibbler selected a fresh dainty from the counter, and Wingate abstractedly walked to the window and rubbed the glass. Sky and water had already disappeared behind a curtain of darkness that was illuminated by a single point of light the lamp in the window of some invisible but nearer house which threw its rays across the glistening shallows in the road.

"Vell," cried the woman who had made me a prisoner, "I do declare I likes to see a puddle in a storm only look at the little biscuit-nibbler showing fight! Come, my lovey, you belongs to me." "Never!" exclaimed I with indignation. "Sall," cried the odious woman, "fetch a mop and a pail of dirty water, and I'll trundle that dirk out of his fist."

"Some folks have it mighty easy," said Billings, with long-drawn discontent, as he struggled to his feet. "You've only a step to go, and yer's me and Peters there" indicating the biscuit-nibbler, who was beginning to show alarming signs of returning to the barrel again "hev got to trapse five times that distance." "More'n half a mile, if it comes to that," said Peters, gloomily.