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“This is a lyre, very old,” said Mr. Crump, handling an ancient instrument tenderly. Moses looked up suddenly, he hoped nothing he had said called forth the remark. “Well, now, is that so? It sounds to me like a furrin word,” returned Mrs. Wopp, who admired Mrs. Mifsud’s polished utterances, while by no means undervaluing her own rhetorical gifts. “Just to think I’ve got to heat up more water and fill this tank again for a good-for-nothing urchin like you! Begorra! It’s worth it though to see you get a good ducking!”.

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“Oh no Betty,” Moses tones were of an elder-brotherly authority, “yer li’l han’s aint meant fer sich servitood. I’d not stan’ by an’ see you do that.” With all his teasing at times, Moses adored his little foster-sister. He idealized her, and as Mrs. Wopp had often remarked, whenever Betty left his presence he saw her ascend into heaven in a “Whirlwin’ of fire, an’ go-cart of flame.” May Nell had learned to use the towel; and the two children usually “did” the dishes at night; but now she was away with Edith at the Opera House, and mother and son were alone in the kitchen. “Why, Buzz Lancaster, how did you get here?” Edith went back and steadied him over the uneven ground. “Phew! He smells of gasoline! Where has he been, do you suppose, mother?” Cautiously he crept nearer the door, stopping at each step to listen, to look again at the worker above. He was at the very corner of the house when voices sounded from within. He started, his breath coming quicker. He caught no words, but knew by the “ginger” in the tones that the speakers were angry. Shuffling steps came up the stairway and turned toward the rear..