ackberry buser a lot of argument about o do ook t, s at tones, and finally stamped on to stamp on. It ting on toea-time no old Breting too o stay out mucrailed ments  and c icks, and old Bennet tation-master,  every nig, came after us in a tearing rage because rampled on his onion- bed.

    I’d en miles and I  tired. All day I’d trailed after tried to do everyt I’d more or less kept my end up. I  kno unless you’ve —but if you’re a man you’ll  some time. I kne I  a kid any longer, I  last. And it’s a o be a boy, to go roaming co cs and kill birds and sones and cers and s dirty ’s a kind of strong, rank feeling, a feeling of kno’s all bound up e dusty roads, t sy feeling of one’s clot, ty ink of taste of fizzy lemonade and t made one belcamping on training on t  of it. t feeling.

    Sure enoug round and told everybody. Fatcrap out of to ‘t of’ Joe. But Joe struggled and yelled and kicked, and in t get in more t  a caning from ter of t day. I tried to struggle too, but I  me across -for rap. So I’d  day, one from Joe, one from old Bre day t I  really a member yet and t I’d got to go t out of tories) after all. trict in insisting t you o bite t. Moreover, because I  and to catc after t  really a big one. In a general endency of fisalk about to get bigger and bigger, but t smaller and smaller, until to alk you’d  it han a minnow.

    But it didn’t matter. I’d been fis dive under ter and felt tugging at told t take t away from me.