Poor father trudged manfully along with the camping outfit over his shoulder, while mother, strolling leisurely in front, looked for a suitable camping site. At last she stopped near a precipice and called out;—“John, its wonderful here. Where shall we pitch our tent?” “Over the precipice.” came father's panting reply.
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Evening Star, Issue 22354, 2 June 1936, Page 10
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50Untitled Evening Star, Issue 22354, 2 June 1936, Page 10
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