"Lord love us!" Mrs. Wilson started to undo her apron. "Why didn't you tell me before, you freckle-faced jackass, you! Lord knows what use you boys are anyways! Think of you, hangin' 'round here askin' fer Billy and your poor Ma at home groanin' in pain an' needin' help. Ain't you 'shamed of yourself?",
"You seem to have managed the stringin' all right," said the father, examining the wooden ducks on the work bench. "A little too much white on the bluebills, I'd say.",
"Why, maybe you're right," agreed Mrs. Keeler, "an' I do declare! I've got some hoarhound right here in this basket. Ain't it lucky I sent fer it?".
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