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. "Do you still refuse to make one!" "I have made one," replied Lady Trafford. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. She laughed a little bitterly. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly.
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