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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

He had never talked to me so
freely before and somehow he had let me come nearer to hun than
I had ever hoped to be. His company had lifted me out of the
slough a little and my mind was on a better footing as I neared the
chalet.
Riggs's shop was lighted - an unusual thing at so late an hour.
Peering through the window I saw Riggs sleeping at his desk An
old tin lantern sat near, its candle burning low, with a flaring
flame, that threw a spray of light upon him as it rose and fell. Far
back in the shop another light was burning dimly. I lifted the big
iron latch and pushed the door open. Riggs did not move. I closed
the door softly and went back into the gloom. The boy was also
sound asleep in his chair. The lantern light flared and fell again as
water leaps in a stopping fountain. As it dashed upon the face of
Riggs I saw his eyes half-open. I went close to his chair. As I did
so the light went out and smoke rose above the lantern with a rank
odour.
'Riggs!' I called but he sat motionless and made no answer.


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