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DOWN WITH THE TYRANT.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Page 167

DOWN WITH THE TYRANT.

Ha! ha! Down with the tyrant! Death to the
Spaniard!” shouted Ike, as he rushed into the kitchen,
brandishing Paul's old artillery sword that had hung so
long on the wall. He struck an attitude, and then struck
the upright portion of the stove funnel till it rung with
the blow, and Mrs. Partington, with amazement on her
countenance and the glass lamp in her hand, stood looking
at him. Ike had been reading the thrilling tale of
the “Black Avenger, or the Pirate of the Spanish
Main,” and his “intellects,” as Sir Hugh Evans might
say, were absorbed by the horrible.

“Don't, Isaac, dear,” said Mrs. Partington, and she
spoke in a gentle, but firm tone. “You are very scarifying,
and it don't look well to see a young boy acting so.
It comes, I know, of reading them yellow cupboard
books. You should read good ones; and if you won't
touch that again I will let you have my big Bible, king
James's aversion, with the beautiful pictures. I declare,
I don't know what I shall do with you if you carry on
so. I am afraid I shall have to send you to a geological
cemetery to get the old sancho out of you.”

The point of the sword was lowered as it was making
a passage for a dark spot in the centre panel of the door;
the eye of the boy, so fiercely lit by the spirit of the
“Black Avenger,” became mild and laughing, as he
said he was only “making b'lieve,” and Mrs. Partington
gave him a penny as she disarmed him. What a visible


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Page 168
emotion of peanuts became manifest as he grasped the
copper and made tracks for the door, and climbed over
the snow drifts to reach the grocer's opposite!