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“I guess so. Teacher says every live thing that’s happy works; birds, flowers, children; that those that won’t work shouldn’t eat. He says the greatest joy is to do the work you like best as well as you can.” “No matter, Billy. I think she was sent to us; and we shall find a way. Are the chickens fed?” As Betty stood in her garden whispering to Jethro, Nell Gordon came slowly down the path. For many weary weeks Howard Eliot had evaded her in every way. Was his jealousy so strong as to part them irrevocably? She remembered with remorse the flutterings of her heart when genius had knocked. She had learned since that greatness and domestic felicity are seldom associated even in the mind of the most ardent lover. Zalhambra was a human cyclone, he had simply carried her away for the moment with his magnetic personality. She had come through the experience with the conviction that ordinary everyday capabilities make for happiness, while genius is an abnormal condition bringing joy to the multitude, but disaster to the individual. All her femininity called out now for the support of a strong nature unhampered by genius..
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Billy had been reeling off stanzas of his favorite “Lady of the Lake,”—“by the yard,” Mrs. Bennett said, acting it as he recited, somewhat retarding the work and endangering the dishes. Now he dropped his towel, caught up his mother and raced with her around the room. He was so strong that she was almost helpless in his grasp. Mrs. Wopp, after ascertaining that the little boy had received no bodily injury, stood mopping her heated face with the half-mended sock. She ceased operations to survey Betty more carefully. “Moses, yer as useless as the hole in a doughnut; here quick gimme yer handkerchief till I mop up yer Par.” It seemed to him that his voice made no sound; that May Nell never ran so slowly; that the travellers would surely not hear him, not stop. How could they hear in all the noise?.
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