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“Who is going to auction the quilt when it is finished?” inquired Nell Gordon, appealing to her hostess as President of the Ladies’ Aid. “The robin is jist the carinest bird,” she added. He arrived home Monday evening, and was received as though a visit of several months’ duration had torn him from the bosom of the family..

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He indicated a fair-haired child, a baby in size, though her face gave hint of more years than her slender body. She wore woman’s shoes, and one was torn; a draggled skirt pinned up in front and trailing behind; and a folded sheet drawn around her shoulders. Yet no incongruity of dress could disguise the refined beauty of her face, or of her uncovered hair. “Mamma, Pretty’s finishing the lawn for me; can’t I rub the floors right now? The Gang’s coming and we want to do a lot to-day.” “He didn’t come roun’ here, I kin tell you though,” joined in Mrs. Wopp, energetically. In speaking of Mr. Zelamba, her voice modulated harshly into a key of hyper-acidulated sharps. “I says to Miss Gordon, an’ she jined in with me, a piannerist may be well ’nough as an actor man, but when it comes to takin’ fer keeps, give me a real man.” After taking a deep breath she continued, “My, but he makes a heap of money an’ he loves it, too; but when he gits to be about forty, the lines in his fiz’ll be as tight as my clothes-rope arter a spell of rain.” “Won’t you sing something else, Mrs. Wopp.” Nell was growing uncomfortable under Betty’s reference to the unburnished state of her cloud..