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. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia. “Do you know why they are estranged?” Lucy asked. Mr. She told you —the truth.
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