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“Oh, Betsey, give it to me!” he whispered in agony of soul. “Don’t let up’s long’s I live! Maybe I’ve killed her!”,
“You’re the only girl I’m afraid of in that line. Isn’t that so, Pretty?”,
“Sure. All the kids. But Clarence especially,—he’s my son, you know.” Billy grinned.,
THE girls worked hard to bower the interior of the Lodge with evergreen; to spread and hang the rugs they had brought; but before their task was finished distant whistles warned Jean. She took Bouncer’s face between her hands and charged him with May Nell’s protection as if he were human. And Bouncer wagged his tail, and in a short, sharp bark pledged himself as if he were human.
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CHAPTER I.—MRS. WOPP’S HOSPITALITY.,
Mrs. Bennett caught the despair in his words, and knew this could be no ordinary trouble to be petted away with a few caresses. Some crisis had come that must be wisely met. She entered, knelt by the bed, and put her arms around him. The spring starlight dimly outlined his head on the pillow but gave no hint of its bruises. “Billy, dear, nothing you can ever do will be bad enough to keep your mother away from you. What is it, my son?”,
“Pore Joe! Truly the way of the transgressor is hard. I feel bad fer him, to think he has to set round all evenin’ and carnt even git up to git a drink of water fer hisself.”,
“I’m sorry to make you late with your mowing, Billy, but I must have you go out to Mrs. Prettyman’s for some cream she promised me.”
Awakened to the fact of her son’s existence and perhaps as an antidote to her unusual display of sentiment, Mrs. Wopp spoke rather sharply. “Moses, time you an’ Betty was in bed. You won’t want to git up in the mornin’ an’ milk the cows.” Later left alone in the lower part of the house she stood arms akimbo in the middle of the kitchen gazing at the door through which Nell Gordon had just departed. Shaking her head she said mysteriously, “I kalkerlate as how things is a-settin’ in that way.”
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While this search was being carried on, those left in the house were in no cheerful mood. They all repaired to the kitchen, as the windows there afforded a view of the path leading to the creek. Each lady in her own way tried to bring comfort and consolation to the worried mother. Mrs. Bliggins gave a long graphic account of the loss of her cousin, Mrs. Snoop’s husband, at sea. Mr. Augustus Snoop, it transpired, had sailed away one summer morning on the good ship “Wanderer,” with Australia as his goal. The story was somewhat elliptical, but the hearers could gather that before Mr. Snoop’s departure there had been a huge caldron of trouble brewing on the domestic hearth. Unfortunately, the ship in which Mr. Snoop sailed had after many weeks been reported missing, and Mrs. Snoop had donned sombre garments in honor of the departed. She had found some slight consolation in telling her friends of her late husband’s many excellent qualities and of his unrivalled devotion to her. She would wipe away the gushing tears with her black-bordered handkerchief as she recounted how her dear Augustus had been so careful and considerate of her and had even been known to turn the clothes-wringer for her. True, she had taken in washing for some years to keep the family larder filled, but her dear husband had felt so much concerned about it that during that whole time he had not been equal to doing any work himself. The sorrowing widow had felt certain that from his home of heavenly bliss the loving Augustus, whenever he could be spared from his other duties, was daily and hourly watching his adored wife now living frugally but peacefully on his life insurance money.
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It’s a Quan-Yuan
His fork having safely landed its cargo, Mr. Wopp laid it carefully down and remarking, “I must make a note of that,” he began to inscribe Nell’s diplomatic request. As he leaned over the paper, his head shone like a round china lamp-shade, its shining expanse relieved here and there, by long wisps of grey hair.
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“She won’t do it; she said so before. She wants to be Alan-bane.”
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Halin-Chen Response,
>It was Mrs. Wopp’s voice. From her remarks one would gather that the rarest perfumes wafted on the winds invoked by Solomon could never seem so sweet to Woppian nostrils as the mingled odor of hay and freshly dug carrots.
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