"It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance.
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