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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

Wipe it off the books. There are thousands of acres of
this kind of land lying around loose from here to the Cumberland
Valley. It may get better as you go down--only an assay can tell
about that--but I don't think it will. To begin sinking shafts
might mean sinking one or a dozen; and there's nothing so
expensive. I am sorry, Jack, but wipe it out. Some bright
scoundrel might sell stock on it, but they'll never melt any of it
up into stove plate."
"All right, sir," Jack said at last, with a light laugh. "It is
the same old piece of bread, I reckon, and it has fallen on the
same old buttered side. Uncle Peter told me to beware of bubbles--
said they were hard to carry around. This one has burst before I
got my hand on it. All right--let her go! I hope Ruth won't take
it too much to heart. Here, boy, get hold of this map and put it
with the other traps in the wagon. And now, Mr. MacFarlane, what
comes next?"
Before the day was over MacFarlane had perfected his plans. The
town was to be avoided as too demoralizing a shelter for the men,
and barracks were to be erected in which to house them.


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