CHAPTER XXIII. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. ” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand.
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