On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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