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There was food and a small provision for the immediate present. And here, upon that wild March night of screaming wind and sleet, and with only Aunt Cornelia as doctor and nurse, Huldy's child was born. And now a new order of things began. Sammy's energies appeared to be devoted to the thwarting of Pap Overholt's care and benefits.
Paddy the Beaver swam out from his hiding-place and climbed out on the bank near Lightfoot. There was a twinkle in his eyes. "That blue-coated mischief-maker isn't such a bad fellow at heart, after all, is he?" said he. Lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and set his ears forward to catch the sound of Sammy's voice in the distance.
In silent consternation the father descended to his bedroom and said, "Mariar, Sammy's gone!" "Dead!" exclaimed Mrs Twitter with a look of horror. "No, no; not dead, but gone gone out of the house. Did not sleep in it last night, apparently." Poor Mrs Twitter sank into a chair and gazed at her husband with a stricken face.
The man changed his position, and still those Ducks didn't move, although some of them were so near that they simply couldn't have helped knowing when the hunter moved unless they were more stupid than any one of Sammy's acquaintance. This was very curious, very curious indeed. Sammy flew a little nearer and then a little nearer, taking the greatest care not to make a sound.
"Very odd; Sammy didn't use to be late, nor to sleep so soundly," said Mr Twitter, ascending to the attic of his eldest son. Obtaining no reply to his knock, he opened the door and found that the room was empty. More than that, he discovered, to his surprise and alarm, that Sammy's bed was unruffled, so that Sammy himself must have slept elsewhere!
Of course it was Sammy Jay who was humming such a foolish-sounding rhyme as that. But really, it wasn't so foolish in Sammy's case, after all. He had sat up wide awake all night just to try to find out why it was that all the little meadow and forest people had complained that he spent part of each night screaming "Thief! thief! thief!" just as he does in the daytime. Now he knew.
A day or two before the expedition was ready to start, Roland Clewe was very much surprised one morning by a visit from Sammy's wife, Mrs. Sarah Block, who lost no time in informing him that she had made up her mind to accompany her husband on the perilous voyage he was about to make. "You!" said Clewe. "You could not go on such an expedition as that!" "If Sammy goes, I go," said Mrs. Block.
Several of them he had met in a place called "Sammy's," on Forty-third Street, where, if one knocked on the door and were favorably passed on from behind a grating, one could sit around a great round table drinking fairly good whiskey.
She had seen nothing of the glittering tinsel of that cheap culture that is death to all true refinement, But in the daily companionship of her gentle teacher, she had lived in touch with true aristocracy, the aristocracy of heart and spirit. Young Matt and Jim had thought that, in Sammy's education, the bond between the girl and her lover would be strengthened.
Flin has got into her new home, and there is quite a rejoicing among her tenants. There is no fear now from Master Sammy's apple-skins and pebbles, and the landlady's bombazine dress has done sweeping its ample folds across Mrs. Bates' floor. You don't catch Mrs. Flin in that vile street any more!
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