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Stories by American Authors, Volume 6 by Various
page 7 of 141 (04%)
innocent as a lamb. I will ask him why I have not seen him at the
Sabbath-school this winter."

"You may make fun," said she, "but you will end by taking my advice,
all the same. Now, do be careful what you say."

"I will," he replied. "I will compose my remarks carefully upon the back
of an envelope and read them to him, so as to be absolutely sure. I will
leave on his mind an impression that I have been in prison, and that he
was the judge that tried me."

He drove in at the open gate, hitched his horse in a warm corner by the
kitchen door, and then stopped for a moment to enjoy the view. The
situation of the little house, half a mile from any other, was beautiful
in summer, but it was bleak enough in winter. In the small front
dooryard stood three lofty, wind-blown poplars, all heading away from
the sea, and between them you could look down the bay or across the
salt-marshes, while in the opposite direction were to be seen the roofs
and the glittering spires of the village.

"It is social for him here, to say the least," said the doctor, as he
turned and walked alone to the shop. He opened the door and went in. It
was a long, low lean-to, such as farmers often furnish for domestic
work, with a carpenter's bench, a grind-stone, and a few simple tools.
It was lighted by three square windows above the bench. An air-tight
stove, projecting its funnel through a hole in one of the panes, gave
out a cheerful crackling.

Eph, in his shirt-sleeves, his hands in his pockets, was standing, his
back against the bench, surveying, with something of a mechanic's eye,
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