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Caleb Spencer, proprietor of the Twin Oaks store, paused at his garden gate to light his corncob pipe. The next three hours would be his busy time. The farmers of Scotia would come driving in for their mail and to make necessary purchases of his wares. His pipe alight to his satisfaction, Caleb crossed the road, then stood still in his tracks to fasten his admiring gaze on the rambling, unpainted building which was his pride and joy. He had built that store himself. With indefatigable pains and patience he had fashioned it to suit his mind. Every evening, just at this after-supper hour, he stood still for a time to admire it, as he was doing now. "I guess we've struck into the big woods," Billy informed him. "Anyways, the trees are gettin' thicker the further we go." "I should say I do. It's a brass cap what women use to keep the needle from runnin' under their finger-nail.".
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Scroggie's mouth fell open in surprise. "I didn't try to kill any coon," he denied. "I saw one but it wasn't me that clubbed it; it was a tall, sandy-haired feller with a squint eye. I asked him what he was tryin' to do and he told me to dry up and mind my own business. I had to give him a lickin'. He went off blubberin'; said if I wasn't too scared to stick around he'd send a feller over who would fix me. So I stayed." "You, Anse!" came Mrs. Wilson's voice. "Have I gotta limber you up with the strap, after all?" The Admiral looked deaf, and continued to stare at the door, which in a few moments was again flung open, and Mr Greyquill entered. "Because He didn't have no boat!".
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