The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it. " Ruth stood with drawn brows; she was trying to recall. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly.
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