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Updated: June 3, 2025
He had always loved the river, and his boyhood dream of piloting had time and again returned, but it was not uppermost when he bade good-by to Macfarlane and stepped aboard the "Paul Jones," bound for New Orleans, and thus conferred immortality on that ancient little craft. Now he had really started on his voyage.
These were the six girls who had entered the bond campaign and assisted to complete Dorfield's quota of subscriptions, but there was one other Liberty Girl who had been unable to join them in this active work. This was Irene Macfarlane, the niece of Peter Conant. She had been a cripple since childhood and was confined to the limits of a wheeled chair.
They talked very little, for Merryon's strength was terribly low, and Macfarlane, still scarcely believing in the miracle that had been wrought under his eyes, forbade all but the simplest and briefest speech a prohibition which Puck strenuously observed; for Puck, though she knew the miracle for an accomplished fact, was not taking any chances.
"She meant, mon cher," said Duprez airily, "that she knew herself to be ugly and venerable, while Mademoiselle was youthful and ravishing, it is a sufficient reason to excite profanity in the mind of a lady!" "Here comes Errington!" said Macfarlane, pointing to the approaching boat that was coming swiftly back from the Gueldmars' pier. "Lorimer, are we to congratulate him?"
It was not yet three o'clock and his bank was still open, but it did not contain ten thousand dollars or any other sum that he could draw upon. Besides, neither Jack, nor MacFarlane, nor anybody connected with Jack, had an account at the Exeter. The discounting of their notes was, therefore, out of the question. "To-day is a short business day, Jack, being Saturday," he said with a sigh.
I am going to drop some of these trees; get two or three choppers from the village and knock up a log-house like the one I camped in when I was a boy." "Where will you put it?" asked MacFarlane with a smile, as he turned his head as if in search of a site. It was just where he wanted Jack to live, but he would not have suggested it.
"Let us spread through some of the rooms." "Right!" said Macfarlane. "Doane, Giddings, and Miss Colina go into the library and throw up the windows on this side. Shoot between the boards if I give the word. The guns are inside the door." A cry from Strange brought them out into the hall again. "They've raised a white flag! They want to parley not to fight." The others murmured their relief.
There was something sinister about it, and it might have been frozen stiff but for a faint rattle as the horse moved its head, while once I caught a rigid line across the saddle which suspiciously resembled a rifle. Then, recalling what Sergeant Macfarlane had said, I knew that while the police rode hot-foot toward the boundary the rustlers had doubled on their tracks to hold up Carrington Manor.
Leading the way through his dewy, rose-grown garden, and conversing amicably as he went, he escorted Macfarlane and Duprez to what he called with a gentle humor his "Bee-Metropolis," while Errington and Lorimer returned to the shore of the Fjord, where they had left their boat moored to a small, clumsily constructed pier, and entering it, they set themselves to the oars and pulled away together with the long, steady, sweeping stroke rendered famous by the exploits of the Oxford and Cambridge men.
If he would call at MacFarlane's stables in Buchanan Street, or even write to Mr. MacFarlane, he would be sure to get a horse that would carry him. MacFarlane was sending horses down into the Ayrshire country every day of his life. It was simply an affair of money. Three guineas for the horse, and then just the expense of the railway.
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