“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air. It opened and a nun’s head popped out. “I’m not in the mood right this instant. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside.
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