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"No sir," his neighbor answered promptly, "I should say not." Sighing dolefully she arose, placed her treasured gold piece in the clock for safe keeping, and tying on her bonnet, left the house. She walked hurriedly down the path, thinking that perhaps she might be late for the opening hymn. As she was about to open the gate, a slender, sprightly old gentleman, dressed in long frock coat, stepped out from the trees bordering the road, and gravely lifting his shiny hat, bowed low, and said: "Your pardon, ma'am, I'm axin; but if ye'll permit me." Anson started to whimper. "I do have bad dreams," he confessed miserably, "but pie an' tarts ain't to blame fer it.".
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But Billy plucked at the speaker's sleeve. "Wait a minute, Fatty," he urged. "Anson's up there asleep, an' he's goin' to have a wakin' nightmare in about four seconds. I jest heard Ma goin' up." "Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? "Yep, we're goin' tomorrow if this weather holds. I'll go over this afternoon to fix up a hide on Mud point." Billy nodded. "That's what Trigger Finger 'ud do," he said, "an' Trigger Finger, he was always right, Pa.".
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