They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. 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. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study.
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