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Updated: April 30, 2025
A storm of clapping broke out, but stopped almost on the instant: for the stranger had flung an arm out towards the hearth-stone. "A mine a mine!" The white streak ran hissing from the heart of the fire, where a clod of earth rested among the ashen sticks. "Witchcraft!" muttered one or two of the guests, peering forward with round eyes. "Fiddlestick-end! I put the clod there myself. 'Tis lead!"
Mr. Rogers nodded. "Fiddlestick-end!" "I beg your pardon?" "Fiddlestick-end! Look at the man's face. And you call yourself a justice of the peace?" "It was thrust upon me," said Mr. Rogers, modestly. "I don't say he's guilty, mind you; and, of course, if you say he isn't " "Look at his face!" repeated Miss Belcher; and, turning, addressed Mr. Goodfellow.
"Fiddlestick-end!" said that lady, falling back on her favourite ejaculation. "Great clumsy crosses of that size! How in the world could any one find a treasure by such marks, unless it happened to be two miles long?" She pointed to the scale at the head of the chart, which, to be sure, gave six miles to the inch.
She fumbled quickly through the remaining blank leaves. "Not a word more," she repeated. "Death cut short his hand," said Captain Branscome, his voice breaking in upon a long silence. "Cut short his fiddlestick-end!" snapped Miss Belcher. "The man funked it at the last moment started out promising to tell the whole truth, but refused the fence.
"A scholar, and such a gentleman!" "Fiddlestick-end!" snapped the unconscionable lady, not removing her eyes from mine. "Was this man Stimcoe drunk, eh? No; I beg your pardon," she corrected herself. "I oughtn't to be asking a boy to tell tales out of school. 'Thou shalt not say anything to get another fellow into trouble' that's the first and last commandment eh, Harry Brooks?
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