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Just as its light came stealing on through the willowy fringe to touch the waters of the pond there arose, from the dark grove opposite the mill, a rapturous song. "What's that?" cried Tim, in startled joy. "A catbird," answered John McIntyre. "Oh, say! That's the little beggar that was meyowing jist now, ain't it?" "Yes." "Billy Winters always said it was a wildcat, and was scarder'n a rabbit.
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