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“An’ was the pore little feller lookin’ fer Joner?” said Mrs. Wopp. She spoke pityingly, yet she could not avoid some slight feeling of satisfaction over this evident tribute to her powers of biblical narrative.,

Mrs. Snoop had been furious at this calumniation of her lamented husband. But, after learning that the sailor had depicted Mr. Snoop very accurately as to appearance and disposition, she had begun to doubt. “When she heard how Mr. Snoop let those heathen girls run after him an’ wait on him, Mrs. Mifsud,” recounted Mrs. Bliggins, “even lightin’ his pipe for him an’ puttin’ his hat on his head, she began to see things clear, an’ mark my words, she quit mournin’. She couldn’t do anything to Augustus, of course, but she sold her crape clothes and got some new bright ones, mostly red an’ yellow, just to show people how she felt. She made kindlin’ of the crayon picture of Augustus she had bought from a travellin’ agent. She said it was a cryin’ shame that Augustus Snoop, who had been brought up on two catechisms, the Mother’s an’ Shorter, afterwards joinin’ the Holy Rollers, should have taken up with those south sea trollops.”,

“Oh, don’t wait for me,” Billy exclaimed, opening his eyes suddenly; “you won’t catch ’em! The fire’ll get there first! Hurry! Leave me alone, I tell you!”,

Meantime Jerusalem Crickets, escaped from Billy’s arm and eye, was sneaking about for prey; and a clinking sound from the pantry warned them that she had found it.

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“All right, Doc,” the other replied a bit gruffly; “suppose we catch ’em before we fight about the divvy.”,

All were silent for a little. Most of them had been more than once to San Francisco’s celebrated dealer in sweets.,

Moses, his feelings by this time wrought to a state of down-right rebellion, grasped a pail in either hand and sought the peaceful atmosphere of the river.,

Edith worked very hard. She called her operetta “The Triumph of Flora.” The words were her own, written hurriedly and set to familiar though classic airs. Yet many of the daintiest, most tripping melodies she wrote herself. The sorrows of humanity had winged her brain and dipped her pen in harmonies, that she might assuage them.