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“No matter, Billy. I think she was sent to us; and we shall find a way. Are the chickens fed?” Mrs. Wopp was an incurable optimist, although the citadel of her optimism was being assailed. Turning her wrathful gaze from Moses, her eye lighted on the soiled pink hat and antimacassar still worn by Job. She burst into a hearty laugh and turned to Betty. “Oh, please, Mrs. Lancaster,” Billy coaxed. “The circus won’t be any circus at all without Buzz. We’re to have him for a side show after the performance. We’ve advertised him,” Billy pleaded well..

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The perturbed lady wisely let the question pass not being absolutely clear herself as to the operation involved in the casting of lots. She hastened to take up the thread of the story. Clarence had crossed the Pons Asinorum; a series of intoxicated circles, with sharp-cornered triangles piercing their fat sides, bore eloquent testimony to his faltering steps. He sprang up, caught her hand, and raced with her down the rocky steep, calling wildly to the men in the wagon as he ran. Bouncer, no longer watched, vented his pent-up excitement in noisy yelps; and above the din Billy heard loud angry words in a foreign tongue that he knew were execrations, commands to return. “Yes, Mosey, I jist want to go to my mornin’-glory garding to tell it good-night.” She rubbed her sleepy tear-stained eyes..