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“He’s been pushin’ up the daisies fer thirty years, I ain’t goin’ to warble to please no tombstun.” Moses swung a ponderous foot to give emphasis to his decision. “Oh, he is a wonderful piannerist,” explained Betty. “He played, Oh, jist lovely, jist like birds singin’ an’ rivers runnin’ an’ the sun shinin’. But arfter he played he looked so fierce I was skeered of him. Miss Gordon didn’t like him either, arfter she got knowin’ him better.” “Take care ole boy, you’ll trip on yer lip in another minute.”.

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“No, Mosey, I must hurry and get some flowers fer school to-day.” “In a minute I heard the teentiest little mew. I looked and there was Tom crouched against the side of the house. He was shivering with fright, and that old tramp cat was eating up his breakfast.” Nell looked toward the morning-glory garden and there she saw Betty kneeling in the moonlight. Jethro was sitting up on his hind legs beside the little figure, holding his paws before him. The moonlight fell on his penitential white body, on the stiff braids of the sorrowful and contrite Betty, and lighted up the bright yellow nasturtiums that filled the air with their pungent odor. The morning-glory leaves gleamed in the pure white light. Was there to be another murder? Ought he to call? If he did wouldn’t they turn on him—kill him? No matter. Some one might be on the road and hear. And he could run pretty fast. Anyway he must risk it..