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The currants in Aunt Grenertsen’s garden were nothing to speak of, either. Awfully sour, small pinheads! The raspberries were small, too, but at any rate, they were sweet. “Yes.” Johnny stared at his mother’s tear-stained face. What was to be done? There seemed no answer. At last an idea came to Bob. “Go quick,” he said to the Indian, “get help! Bring a gun. Perhaps we can shoot him! I’ll stay here and watch. You can go quicker than I. Hurry!”.

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“You can’t do it!” flared out Bob, unable to restrain himself any longer. “The Service will beat you, and don’t you forget it!” Oh, dear! How dreadful! At home no one knew a thing about anything, and here he had behaved like this and perhaps hurt Bob. To “break a horse’s wind” was dangerous he knew, because he had heard about one of the livery stable horses that had to be shot on account of being “broken-winded.” But Bob! It was impossible that it should go that way with Bob! Oh, it couldn’t! 'One day, which it appears was the paroxysm of my disorder, I sunk in to a state of total torpidity, in which I lay for several hours. It is impossible to describe my feelings, when, on recovering, I found myself in this hideous abode. For some time I doubted my senses, and afterwards believed that I had quitted this world for another; but I was not long suffered to continue in my error, the appearance of the marquis bringing me to a perfect sense of my situation. “Know anything else?” demanded the Chief as the engine rocked crazily on the narrow gauge track, and when Bob shook his head, asked, “How did you get over?”.