“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. As soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe. ‘Not here. " "I declare I don't know what to do," said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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