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TO THE MEMORY OF ARTHUR MacARTHUR FUNSTON The little boy who in happy days gone by often sat on my knees and, open-eyed and wondering, listened to the story of the cruise of the Dauntless and to the accounts of midnight rides in the Philippines; but who now sleeps forever in the national cemetery of the Presidio of San Francisco, under the shadow of the flag his childish heart so loved THIS BOOK |
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