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“Put a li’l shoe-black on then an’ that’ll make me dark again,” advised Betty serenely. “You are one simp,” he comforted, at the same time putting his own overcoat about the shivering boy. Clank! Clank! Clank!.

Hardly daring to breathe, he watched and hoped for a flame to spring from the wood.If it came, he had won; if not, his losing was the end of the fight. There would be no other way out.I tried logging in using my phone number and I was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call me instead" option twice but didn't get a call either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call me instead fails.There was “Yes, Aunt Grenertsen. I’ll go right up now, this minute.”

“‘Mosey’? Does that mean ‘little Moses’?” “Oh Mosey,” cried Betty at the breakfast table, being first on the scene to arrange her flowers, “we’ll hev a spellin’ match to-day I bet.” They were a happy lot. Each held some high-sounding position, the name coined in Billy’s busy brain. His box of abused tools came forth; the much mended wheelbarrow, picks, shovels wobbly from use as well as abuse, improvised things that only an imagination as large as Billy’s could have named tools,—something for each one there. “Oh, no! It’s too much. We only did what all—”.