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Lor' I hope to gain de prommis' lan', Dat I do, An' dar I'll flap ma wings an' take ma stan', Yaas I will, 'Deed I will, An' I'll tune ma harp an' jine de Shinin' Ban' Glory, Glory, I hope to gain de prommis' lan'! And over and over the same shouted melody, interrupted only by an outburst of reproach for his mules.

Opening it gently he went into a dark room. Feeling his way he moved to another door. He could see a shaft of light under the door. Halting with his hand on the knob, he listened. Sim was talking with their underground agent in German. Stan opened the door quickly. The two men whirled about and faced him. "I didn't know you spoke German," Stan said.

Domber had a fishy coldness about him that was chilling. Stan decided it was the way he looked out of his little eyes. There seemed to be a smoldering hate back of the light in those eyes. Herman had laid out clothing, a business suit which was very close to Stan's size, fresh linen, a shirt, a tie and a pair of dress shoes. Herman was nowhere in sight. Stan dressed slowly.

"What scriptur hae ye for sic a wanderin' invention, o' no practical value?" "'Deed, sir, what scriptur hed I for takin my brakwast this mornin, or ony mornin? Yet I never luik for a judgment to fa' upon me for that! I'm thinkin we dee mair things in faith than we ken but no eneuch! no eneuch! I was thankfu' for't, though, I min' that, and maybe that'll stan' for faith.

Neither offered any resistance to the removal of the gloves. 'Shake han's, lads, said Jake. To Macgregor's surprise, Willie's hand was out before his own. 'I'm a leear if ye like, said Willie, still panting, 'but I can stan' up to ye noo! 'So ye can, Macgregor admitted a little reluctantly perhaps, for he had long been used to being the winner.

"As I see you don't want to keep me, I won't force you to do so. Have it your own way. I'll go. But, that I need not be ashamed before the people, you must carry this treasure home for me." The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when the dragon picked up the sacks and set off with Stan. Short and smooth, yet always too long, is the road that leads home.

He got a connection and asked for Eighth Air Force headquarters after convincing the operator that he was a stranded flier. A voice at the other end of the line said in a very irritated manner: "We are accepting nothing but accredited calls until tomorrow." "This is vitally important. I must speak to General Gilmer. This is Lieutenant Stan Wilson speaking. I've just escaped from Germany.

I made you a good bargain, an' when you come to think it over, I guess you'd rather it'd stan' so than run the resk of havin' folks make a handle of it. Good-by, 'Melia. You've been good to me, better 'n anybody ever was in the world." She heard his step, swift and steady, through the shed and out at the door. He was gone.

"O'Malley spotted a big fighter base all equipped with vanishing planes." Stan got to the point he wanted to discuss at once. "There must be dozens of them, but we have never been able to spot any of them to knock them out. Those Me's and FW's just sprout out of the ground as we go along." Allison frowned and shook his head.

He jerked his head towards the boy, then towards the outhouse or scullery where his wife was. "She takes it terr'ble hard. She wanted me to run. But I said, 'No, I'll stan' it out. Mr. Brown at the Court'll give you the bit wages he owes me. But they'll have to go on the Union. Everybody'll turn their backs on them now."

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