’ ‘And she’d be right,’ Martha said severely. At that, the girl jumped up. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. 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. Fear nothing. “You, too,” he said abruptly. .
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