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āļāļē āļŠāļī āđāļ āļāļąāđāļ āđāļāļ "Don't care for de fight, sar; Job isn't 'feered o' noffin'." "Perfectly, Mr. Pennant." He slept soundly; but he had dreamed that some one opened the door of his room, or some one had actually done so. He was not a believer in dreams, and when an impression had fastened itself upon his mind, he was inclined to investigate it. It seemed to him that he had been awakened from his sleep by the opening of the door of his chamber. Some member of the family might be sick, and he might be needed to go for the doctor, or for some other service. "Then my uncle has vessels in that bay which are to run out?" inquired Christy, deeply interested in the revelations of the skipper. "Did you learn his name?" asked Christy, greatly interested in what the officer was about to say. Not a particle of noise had been made in the stateroom; at least, none that could be heard on the deck above. Christy hastened from the little apartment through the cabin to the gangway, where he found Mr. Flint at the head of the stairs prepared to execute the part of the work assigned to him, which was to fall upon Mr. Galvinne; 165 but he did not appear to be in a favorable position for the attack. "Not a word, and I am not likely to hear from them. Corny Passford was exchanged, and sent back to the South a year ago or more; and I have no idea what has become of him since."