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The man was amused. He laughed a light tinkling laugh, the laugh of a Philadelphian. Something in the ring of it thrilled her. She drank off another dipper of whiskey. "Where is Mr. Tantrum, little girl?" he asked, not without kindness. She raised her foot and pointed her big toe toward the woods. "Thar in the cabing behind those thar pines. Old Tantrum air my old man."
"I'm on a raft of my own. Have you one, Snowball?" "Ya, massa Ben, ya! I make um out o' de wreck an de water-cask." "Are ye all alone?" "Not 'zackly dat. The pickaninny be long wi' me, de cabing gal. You know de lilly Lalee?" "Oh! she it be!" muttered Ben, now remembering the little cabin passenger of the Pandora. "You bean't movin', be you?"
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