"What's that?" demanded McClintock. Dump popped his head into the cage. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. "Do you know what you are talking about, Mrs.
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