I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. Spurlock had not coached her on this line of conduct. He was aroused from his slumber, about six o'clock, by the return of Abraham Mendez, who not choosing to confess that Jack had eluded his vigilance, contended himself with stating that he had kept watch till daybreak, when he had carefully searched the field, and, finding no trace of him, had thought it better to return. "Tell me, what did they call you?" "Well, the old Kanaka cook used to call me the Golden One, but the natives called me the Dawn Pearl. She was unusually helpful at breakfast, and unselfish about the eggs: and then she went off to catch the train before her father’s. I wouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. She was wan and white. They will insist upon a catalogue of things one must not do, which does nothing but fill one with the greatest desire to do them.
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