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Nonsense Novels by Stephen Leacock
page 130 of 150 (86%)
nearer; just behind the ear, I think, Henry."

"No," said Henry, rolling back his sleeve and speaking with the
quick authority that sat well upon him, "across the jaw, father,
it's quicker and neater."

"Well, well," said the farmer, smiling proudly, "have your own
way, lad, you know best."

Henry raised the club.

But as he did so--stay, what was that? Far away behind the
cedar swamp the deep booming of the bell of the village church
began to strike out midnight. One, two, three, its tones came
clear across the crisp air. Almost at the same moment the clock
below began with deep strokes to mark the midnight hour; from
the farmyard chicken coop a rooster began to crow twelve times,
while the loud lowing of the cattle and the soft cooing of the
hogs seemed to usher in the morning of Christmas with its
message of peace and goodwill.

The club fell from Henry's hand and rattled on the floor.

The sleeper woke, and sat up.

"Father! Mother!" he cried.

"My son, my son," sobbed the father, "we had guessed it was you.
We had come to wake you."

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