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“Wait till the clouds roll by, Jenny, Whose feet never tire, “Try a mile with this can and see where you come out in the race.”.
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Conrad
“It might have been to-day’s roast,” Edith protested, as she took the snarling Geewhillikins from his feast. “You see why Billy’s cats don’t come in the house, May Nell.” Another sound in a somewhat higher key was heard. Moses had simply modulated in his domestic symphony of labor from a major task to a minor one. As a change and refreshing recreation, Moses was allowed to turn the small wheat-mill. Ninety soul-stirring turns it required to empty the hopper once, and he must turn out enough flour for a batch of bread. His youthful soul was in revolt at such servitude. He had no sympathy to squander on the children of Israel in bondage vile. Making bricks for Pharoah was infantile amusement compared to his labor. There was room on the slip of paper for only this last item, so numerous had been the demands, during this busy day, on Mr. Wopp’s memory. “There Nancy,” she whispered, “is a sunbeam for breakfast dipped in milk.”.
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