Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. There was a fourth story; but he never told either Ruth or McClintock about this. 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.
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