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Updated: June 13, 2025
The professor seized Zeb's boots with the grasp of a drowning man. The branch cracked ominously. "Easy thar, professor," warned Zeb earnestly. "Don't pull more'n you can help or we'll both be in the soup." The professor lightened his grip and slowly, hand over hand, Zeb began the slow journey back along the branch. It was a feat only possible to a man whose muscles were of iron.
When Skipper Zeb's oar broke, the boat, now at the mercy of the wind, was driven upon a submerged rock at the tip end of the reef extending some twenty yards out from the cliff known as the Duck's Head. Here it stuck for what seemed to Charley a long time, reeling in the surf until he was quite certain it would roll over and they would all be drowned. Mrs.
As he watched the boys lay the sticks and start the blaze, Zeb's eyes rolled more wildly than ever. No doubt he thought that he himself was to be roasted over the coals, and when at last he saw William lay a big fish on the fire instead, his relief was so great that for the first time he showed a row of gleaming teeth in a hopeful grin.
They wants to sell she bad, because they has no room to stow she on deck, and in the rough sea that were runnin' they couldn't tow she. I buys she for thirty dollars!" "That was cheap, I should think," said Charley. "'Twere, now!" and there was pride in Skipper Zeb's voice. "I'll tell you how 'twere. We needs a trap boat wonderful bad for our cruisin', and I says to Mrs.
But always the shoulders of the rowers moved steadily in the short, deep strokes of the rough water oarsman, and the beach, with the white light and red-roofed house of the keeper, the group beside it, and Captain Zeb's horse and chaise, grew smaller and less distinct. "Humph!" grunted Charlie. "What's the matter?" asked Thoph.
Charley asked, the gloom suddenly dispersed by Skipper Zeb's cheery voice and logical argument. "Aye, lad, 'twill warm you up," agreed Skipper Zeb heartily. "Take Toby's oars. Let Charley have a pull at your oars, Toby, lad."
Skipper Zeb's mid-winter return was always an occasion for great rejoicing, but this winter it would have an added flavour of joy. All of them were keenly anxious that he see the silver fox pelt, and Toby declared he could hardly wait to show it to him. "'Twill be a rare treat for he, now," said Toby. It was an event, indeed. Even Skipper Zeb had never in all his life caught a silver fox.
For some minutes after Zeb's disappearance, Leslie remained without moving, scarcely breathing for fear there might still be some Indians overhead; but as minute after minute wore by, and no sound above warned him that his enemies were in the vicinity, he managed to creep from his hiding-place and seat himself upon a rock near by.
His foot was thrust into the first shoe, and his forefinger inserted at the heel, shoe-horn fashion, to slip it on, when the noise of light wheels sounded on the road outside, and stopped beside the gate. Looking up, he saw through the window the head and shoulders of Young Zeb's grey mare, and broke off his whistling sharply. Rat-a-tat! "Come in!" he called, and smiled softly to himself.
There were not really so many of them, merely a slovenly woman who was pedaling the sewing machine with a baby tumbling at her feet, an eight-year-old who sat on the window ledge pulling bastings while a half-grown girl cooked something on a stove that had been propped in front of the fireplace. Zeb's phrase "filthy dirty heathen" trembled on Felicia's lips, her eyes burned hotly.
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