"Did you ever hear about the Anglo-Saxons?" she asked the boy.
"You bet!" His eyes glistened, and he looked at her with new
interest. "I'm an Anglo-Saxon, every inch of me. Look at the
color of my eyes, my skin. I'm awful white where I ain't
sunburned. An' my hair was yellow when I was a baby. My mother
says it'll be dark brown by the time I'm grown up, worse luck.
Just the same, I'm Anglo-Saxon. I am of a fighting race. We ain't
afraid of nothin'. This bay--think I'm afraid of it!" He looked
out over the water with flashing eye of scorn. "Why, I've crossed
it when it was howlin' an' when the scow schooner sailors said I
lied an' that I didn't. Huh! They were only squareheads. Why, we
licked their kind thousands of years ago. We lick everything we
go up against. We've wandered all over the world, licking the
world. On the sea, on the land, it's all the same. Look at Ivory
Nelson, look at Davy Crockett, look at Paul Jones, look at Clive,
an' Kitchener, an' Fremont, an' Kit Carson, an' all of 'em."
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