" "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers.
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