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Marcus was ready; moreover, he knew what he would do. As the man came, stepping swiftly to one side, he caught the thrust of Caleb's sword in the folded cloak, and since he did not wish to kill him, struck at his hand. The blow fell upon Caleb's first finger and severed it, cutting the others also, so that it dropped to the ground with the sword that they had held.
A day was accordingly fixed for holding a grand palaver at Wolf's Hope on the subject of Caleb's requisitions, and he was invited to attend at the hamlet for that purpose. He went with open hands and empty stomach, trusting to fill the one on his master's account and the other on his own score, at the expense of the feuars of Wolf's Hope.
"Well, Nan's mother was a gentlewoman; her grandfather was an admiral; her great-grandfather a commodore, her great-great-granduncle a Revolutionary colonel, and her grandmother an F.F.V. Old Caleb's ancestors always followed the sea. His father and his grandfather were sturdy old Yankee shipmasters.
All day they drove through the seeping rain drove north in Caleb's buckboard, to turn off finally upon a woods trail that ran into the cast, along the lesser branch of the river.
"Didn't didn't the 'Postles cast their nets on Sunday?" he asked presently. Up shot Caleb's head. "Huh-h-h?" he gasped. "I sed didn't the 'Postles cast their nets on Sunday?" Steve repeated. "Seems to me they did, but I can't just rec'lict now what chapter it was in." Caleb pulled his face into a semblance of sobriety. "Seems to me they did," he agreed, a little weakly, "now that you mention it.
But still, for a moment, selfish passions had had possession of his heart, and whenever they get possession, even if they are kept in subjection, so as not to lead to any bad actions or words, and even if they are soon driven away by new thoughts, as Caleb's were, by the sight of his blazing fire, still, they always leave more or less of misery behind.
"Jest so! He's treed! That's a Coon, all right!" and Caleb led straight for the place. The Hound was barking and leaping against a big Basswood, and Caleb's comment was: "Hm, never knowed a Coon to do any other way always gets up the highest and tarnalest tree to climb in the hull bush. Now who's the best climber here?" "Yan is," volunteered Sam. "Kin ye do it, Yan?" "I'll try."
But I think Caleb's vague bewilderment of manner may have half originated in his having confused himself about himself and everything around him, for the love of his Blind Daughter. How could the little man be otherwise than bewildered, after labouring for so many years to destroy his own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it!
It was Caleb's one ewe lamb, and he had nursed it by hand through a long preparatory period. Tom took the blue-prints and spread them on the desk, absorbing the details as his father leaned over him and pointed them out. He saw clearly that the invention would revolutionize pipe-making.
You see, they have to wear a hard sole, 'cause the country is full of cactus and thorns as well as sharp stones." "I want the Sioux style. We have copied their teepee and war bonnet and the Sioux are the best Indians, anyway." "Or the worst, according to what side you're on," was Caleb's reply. But he went on: "Sioux Injuns are Plains Injuns and wear a hard sole. Let's see, now.
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