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Her only reply to his speech was (as though she had not attended to his meaning), "Are you going to keep me a prisoner in this cabin?" Again at this ingenuous remark the Admiral and the Captain exchanged a smile. Billy laughed. "Gee! Ma's like that. Nobody gets 'way from her very easy. Here, fill your shirt with the rest o' these cookies, an I'll take the pan back; then we'll be goin'.".
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Billy nodded. Jim, had he but known it, might have had everything Billy owned, including Croaker, Ringdo, Moll and the pups. Next day was Sunday and Billy did not like Sundays. They meant the scrubbing of his face, ears and neck with "Old Brown Windsor" soap until it fairly cracked if he so much as smiled, and being lugged off with his parents and Anse to early forenoon Sunday School in the little frame church in the Valley. There was nothing interesting about Sunday School; it was the same old hum-drum over and over again—same lessons, same teachers, same hymns, same tunes; with Deacon Ringold's assertive voice cutting in above all the other voices both in lessons and singing and with Mrs. Scraff's shrill treble reciting, for her class's edification, her pet verse: "Am I nothing to thee, all ye who pass by?"—only Mrs. Scraff always improvised more or less on the scriptures, and usually threw the verse defiantly from her in this form: "You ain't nuthin to me, all you who pass me by." "Mr. Hinter, where did that stuff on them wagons come from?" And the worthy old lady's eyes grew dim as she pronounced the words "our Lucy.".
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