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"You're just an unmitigated little humbug, Johnnie," said Graeme, as he leaned over the wall smoking, to the small boy whose acquaintance he had made the previous day, and who had promptly foretold a storm which had not come. "Unmitigumbug! Guyablle! Qu'es' ce que c'es' que ça?" echoed the small boy, with very wide eyes. "You, my son. Your black magic's all humbug.
"Magic," he observed gravely, "was once lyin' 'round loose in the world. That was in the Dark Ages, I guess, when the magic Arabian Nights was. But the light o' Civilization has skeered it away long ago, an' magic's been a lost art since long afore you an' I was born, Trot." "I know that fairies still live," said Trot reflectively. She didn't like to contradict Cap'n Bill, who knew "ever'thing."
Blob was crawling out from beneath him, his pink muzzle thrust up with an air of grave and innocent amazement. Kit pointed a finger. "Ha! ha! you do look funny!" he laughed madly. "You're like one of Magic's puppies poking out to have a first peep at the world."
Go, sir! and think yourself fortunate that you do not go under arrest." "Sir Sir " Jackson rose. "One other word, and I take your sword. It occurs to me that I have indulged you in a freedom that Go!" Cleave turned with sharp precision and obeyed. Three paces took him out of the firelight into the overhanging shadow. He made a gesture of sorrow and anger. "Who says that magic's dead?
The "school" was soon to pay the penalty of that immediate acceptance, that intimate fitness to the mind of its own time, by sudden and profound neglect, as a thing preternaturally tarnished and tame, like magic youth, or magic beauty, turned in a moment by magic's own last word into withered age.
"Seven years in shape of stag thou must remain, And then a purple rose, by magic's firm decree, Shall bring thee to thy former shape again, And end at last thy woeful misery: When this is done, be sure you cut in twain This fatal tree, wherein I do remain." The Knight almost fainted when he heard these strange words, and understood the length of time he was to remain in his transformed condition.
He is with Blue, his mother, at Captain Richardson's quarters, but he is brought over every day for me to see. His coat is brindled, dark brown and black just like Magic's and fine as the softest satin. One foot is white, and there is a little white tip to his tail, which, it seems, is considered a mark of great beauty in a greyhound. We have named him Harold.
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