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A second's glance showed it to be Caleb. The Trapper laid one finger on his lips and shook his head. Yan nodded assent, gathered the knots, and went back to the camp, where Sam continued: "You skinned him out of his last cent, old Boyle says." "An' whoi not, when he throid to shkin me? Before that I was helpin' him, an' fwhat must he do but be ahfter swappin' horses.

He ain't workin' at all, at all, bad cess to him, who ivver he is, fur I can't say him at all, at all!" "Whoi, I be a-shuvvin' and a-shuvvin' all the time," rejoined a voice whose accents were strangely familiar to me. "You pull yerself, maister, and stop hollerin' at Oi!"

If they had been wasting time when they should have been working there is no question but that they would have been sent with contumely to more profitable pursuits, but this was within their rightful play hours, and Raften, after regarding them with a searching look, said slowly: "Bhoys!" They can't be made to howld. Whoi don't ye git some hay woire or coord at the barrun?"

"Whoi, shure, by whittlin'. Larry's a howly terror to whittle, an' he gets a Blue Baitche sapling 'bout three inches thick an' starts a-whittlin" long slivers, but laves them on the sthick at wan end till thayer all round loike that." "What, like a fire-lighter?" "Yis, yis, that's it, only bigger, an Blue Baitche is terrible tough.

Surely one of the men can do the chores for a month." "Month I didn't say nothin' about a month." "Well, why don't you now?" "Whoi, a month would land us into harvest," and William had the air of a man at bay, finding them all against him.

"Why, yes," said Margaret, with an anxious look. "You frighten me with your mysteriousness." "I do not mean to be mysterious, but I don't quite know how to tell you about Mr. Taggett. He has been working underground in this matter of poor Shackford's death, boring in the dark like a mole, and thinks he has discovered some strange things." "Do you mean he thinks he has found out whoi killed Mr.

"Say 'bain't. Don't say 'The young lydy, she came rahnd to our plice; say 'The missy, 'er coomed down; 'er coomed, and 'er ses to the maister, 'er ses . . . That's the sort of thing I want to surround myself with here. When you informed me that the cow was mine, you should have said: 'Whoi, 'er be your cow, surelie 'er be." "Sure it's Berkshire?" demanded Hopkins. "You're confident about it?"