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 CHAPTER XXXI

TOM, TOMMY AND JANET

In a grove upon the bank of the log-choked river, Tom Locke lay stretched on a carpet of brown pine needles, reading from a little book. The sunshine, sifting through the trees, cast upon the ground golden fleckings, which wavered and danced as a soft breeze stirred the upper branches.

By turning his head and lifting his eyes, Tom could catch a glimpse, through an opening, of the distant village and the mills below the dam, silent and dozing in the peaceful warmth of the Sabbath afternoon. So absorbed was he, however, that he rarely paused to give attention to that view.

He scarcely heard the sounds of children's voices in the grove; sounds which gradually drew nearer. When at last he did take note, it was because their close approach had aroused him, but, trusting he would be left undisturbed in his glade, he resumed his reading.

Suddenly he was startled into full attention by a voice which called: