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Updated: May 25, 2025
Sep had gone to bed earlier that night. The rector was reading aloud an endless collection of letters, from which the careful student could scarcely fail to gather side-lights on history. Both Miriam and Loo heard the clang of the iron gate on the sea-wall.
A minute later, as he turned to close the gate that shut off the rectory garden from the river-wall, chance ruled it that their eyes should meet for an instant, and she knew that he had not changed; that he might, perhaps, never change so long as he lived. She turned abruptly and led the way to the house. Sep had a hundred questions to ask, but only a few of them were personal.
"If the tide was to catch me in a bay like this, I should make a run and a jump at the cliff, catch hold of the first piece of ivy I could see, and then go up like a squirrel." "Without a tail," I added laughing. "Hark at clever old Sep Duncan," sneered Bob. "He'd walk up the cliff without touching. It's a strange thing that we can't come out without your saying something disagreeable, Sep."
"Well, I was looking at you," I said. "What an old guy you are!" "Do you want me to hit you on the nose, Sep Duncan?" he said. "Why, of course not," I said. "I came over to play, not fight. Where are your Sunday clothes?" "Where are they?" snarled Bob, speaking as if I had touched him on a very sore spot.
So he foun' this holler log, an' he thought he could nt git fur enough into it. He was about seven year old then; an' that was in '71 the year after the big flood an' the shearin' was jist about over. How old would that make him now? Nineteen or twenty. He left his ole man three year ago, to travel with a sheep-drover, name o' Sep Halliday, an' he's bin with the same bloke ever since.
This was followed by the gurgle of a rope through a well-greased sheave and the square lug, which had been the joy of little Sep Marvin at Farlingford, crept up to the truck of the stubby mast. "There is no wind for that," remarked Marie, pessimistically. "There will be to spare in a few minutes," answered Barebone, and the monosyllabic Jean gave an acquiescent grunt.
You will never find your way across the marsh after dark," said Sep the learned in tides and those practical affairs of nature, which were as a closed book to the scholar. Parson Marvin vaguely acknowledged the warning and went away, leaving Sep to accompany Miriam on her daily errand to the simple shops in Farlingford, which would awake to life and business now that the sea-fog was gone.
Four days later the expected mail arrived. Abe received the letter from the carrier and burst it open with his thumb. Then he drew forth the contents of the envelope and shook the folded sheet, but no order slip fell out. He sighed heavily and perused the letter, which read as follows: CHICAGO, ILL., SEP. '08. Gents: Arrived here this A M and things look very promising.
"We're doing history," replied Sep, frankly, jumping up and shaking hands. "Ah, yes. William the Conqueror, ten hundred and sixty-six, and all the rest of it. I know. At least I knew once, but I have forgotten." "No. We're doing French history. Miriam likes that best, but I hate it." "French history," said Colville, thoughtfully. "Yes. That is interesting. Miss Liston likes that best, does she?
Steady!" shouted Bob. "Don't sink us, lad. I say, what a weight you are! Let's put him ashore, Sep. He's too big a Big for a boat like this." "Make good ballast," said Bigley, laughing good-humouredly. "Boats are always safer when they are well ballasted." "I daresay they are, but I like 'em best without Big lumps in 'em. I say, how far out shall we go?"
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