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He was just sick and tired of seeing those apples in that good-for-nothing garden. Good-for-nothing it certainly was, and very, very old. There was only one apple tree besides the one Johnny was so interested in, but its fruit could scarcely be called apples at all. He would call them croquet balls—such hard green things as they were—hard as rocks. Of course if any of them were on the ground, he bit into them. In fact, he had eaten a good many of them first and last, but they were horrid things, anyway. They picked their way through the sleeping village, which was now dark as the moon had long since finished its journey across the sky. All seemed quiet in the Mexican houses, but when they got up close a figure slipped from a shadow and challenged them. “Oh, there are some things that are so hard, Mother.”.
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Conrad
“To sleep on.” “What’s your grouch?” Jerry asked, seemingly puzzled by Bob’s manner. “Aren’t you going to welcome me home any better than that?” Often is the handsome boy Jerry, however, was not so pessimistic. “Oh, I’m not beaten yet. I think I’ve got a scheme that’ll work, although it means we won’t be dry again until we get out of the canyon.”.
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