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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I am, Cookie," I admitted. The whites of Cookie's eyes became alarmingly conspicuous. Drawing near in a stealthy manner he whispered: "Yo' bettah not, Miss Jinny!" "Better not?" I repeated, staring. He answered with a portentous head-shake. "Oh, nonsense, Cookie!" I said impatiently, "There's not a thing on the island but the pigs!" "Miss Jinny," he solemnly replied, "dey's pigs and pigs."
To-day a strange, strange thing happened so strange, so wonderful and glorious that it ought to be recorded in luminous ink. And I owe it all to Benjy! Little dog, you shall go in a golden collar and eat lamb-chops every day! This morning Across my absorption in the diary cut the unwelcome clangor of Cookie's gong.
A second descent of the rope elicited another missive, neatly folded and addressed in the same hand to Miss Jane Harding. Cuthbert gave this privately to me, but its contents must forever be unknown, for it went, unread, into Cookie's fire. I had no mind to find Aunt Jane, with her umbrella as a parachute, vanishing over the cliffs to seek the arms of a repentant Tubbs.
Cookie's making coffee over yonder." "I say, Shaw," cried the beautiful youth enthusiastically, "Miss Harding's the most ripping sport, you know! Not the least nervous about the trip, I assure you." "I was," I announced, moved to defiance by the neighborhood of Mr. Shaw. "Before we started I was so afraid that if you had listened you might have heard my teeth chattering.
"I wonder what's keepin' him he's usually hangin' around here bawlin' for his grub like a spoiled calf, long afore cookie's got th' fire goin'." "Mebby he rustled some grub out with him I saw him tip-toein' out of th' gallery this mornin' when I come back for my cigs," remarked Hopalong, glancing at Billy. Billy groaned and made for the gallery.
"You ought to hear Bill tell it," said the mate, regretfully. "I can't do it anything like as well as what he can. Made us all roar, he did. What amused 'em most was you thinking that that gal was cookie's sister." The skipper, with a sharp exclamation, leaned forward, staring at him. "They're going to be married at Christmas," said the mate, choking in his cup.
There was Aunt Jane's, very tearful, and Miss Higglesby-Browne's, very glum, and the Honorable Cuthbert's, very anxious and a little dazed, and Cookie's, very, very black. The face of Dugald Shaw I did not see, for the quite intelligible reason that I was lying with my head upon his shoulder.
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