"My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. You hear what I say, Quilt?" he added, looking at Jack. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. 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. Immediately the soldiers of the major will come from the gate.
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