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'See them Arichat Frenchmen step back when I bid?" "But an auction ain't taking anythink off a dead man. It's business." "We know it ain't, but there's no goin' in the teeth o' superstition. That's one o' the advantages o' livin' in a progressive country." And Dan began whistling: "Oh, Double Thatcher, how are you? Now Eastern Point comes inter view.
And I don't s'pose they've changed the lay of Broadway a gre' deal?" "No not much." "Well, I reckon I can find it. I gen'ally do; and I can't get far out o' the way with this." He touched the compass that hung from the fob of the great watch. "I've been putty much all over the world with that. I reckon it'll p'int about the same in New York as it does in Arichat.
The young man went below and slept. When he woke he felt better, as Uncle William had predicted. At Halifax he insisted on sending a telegram to Sergia. After that he watched the water with gleaming face, and when they boarded the John L. Cann and the shores of Arichat shaped themselves out of space, he was like a boy. Uncle William leaned forward, scanning the wharf. "There's Andy!" he exclaimed.
Here is a Catholic chapel; and on shore a fat padre was waiting in his wagon for the inevitable priest we always set ashore at such a place. The missionary we landed was the young father from Arichat, and in appearance the pleasing historical Jesuit. Slender is too corpulent a word to describe his thinness, and his stature was primeval.
There was nothing gross in the action, but it might have been ambrosia. He had pushed the big spectacles up on his head for comfort, and they made an iron-gray bridge from tuft to tuft, framing the ruddy face. "There was a man up here to Arichat one summer," he said, chewing slowly, "that e't my chowder. And he was sort o' possessed to have me go back home with him." The artist smiled.
The twin stone towers of the unfinished cathedral loom up large in the fading light, and the bishop's palace on the hill the home of the Bishop of Arichat appears to be an imposing white barn with many staring windows.
He pushed the spectacles back on his head and sat surveying the red room. He shook his head slowly. "He must be putty sick to feel like that," he said. He took up the letter again, spelling it out slowly. "MY DEAR MR. BENSLOW: You have not forgotten Alan Woodworth, the artist who was in Arichat last summer? I am writing to tell you that he is very ill.
Here is a Catholic chapel; and on shore a fat padre was waiting in his wagon for the inevitable priest we always set ashore at such a place. The missionary we landed was the young father from Arichat, and in appearance the pleasing historical Jesuit. Slender is too corpulent a word to describe his thinness, and his stature was primeval.
"His rooms, you mean?" She mused a little. "Yes, perhaps " "They must cost a good deal," said Uncle William. "They do." She paused a minute. "He is almost sure to take a prize," she said. "It's the best work he has done." "That'll be good," said Uncle William. "But we won't count too much on it. He won't need money in Arichat. A little goes a long ways up there. Good night."
But Uncle William had constructed an elaborate platform with plenty of room for bricks and the pail of mortar, and space in which to stretch his great legs. It was a comfortable place to sit and look out over Arichat harbor. Andy, who had watched the preparations with scornful eye, had suggested an arm-chair and cushion. "I like to be comf'tabul," assented Uncle William. "I know I do.
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