” “I may have to run,” said her father, with an appeal to his watch. It was Blueskin. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. You should have a dog.
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