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“Betty Wopp,” she exclaimed, “you couldn’t be no wetter ef you’d fell in the big slough. Come on to the house an’ change yer clothes. St. Elmo ’ll need warshin’, too, I reckon.” “Oh yes,” said Betty solemnly, “they tell me orl their secrets. They call me their Mornin-Glory Girl.” As she spoke she leaned over to touch with her slender, brown fingers one of the pure, white bells. A hand shot up at this point in the lesson and a thin voice piped, “Please, Mis’ Wopp, I was to the Fair last year.”.
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The two steeds attached to the car of the Goddess of Liberty, also deserted their task, and marked their path with bright bits of paper and bunting. Mrs. Wopp viewed with misgiving the ornate writing not yet erased from the previous lesson. She feared her own handwriting would suffer by comparison. Betty was trying to keep up the engaging flow of talk but the dance proved to require all her attention. “There Nancy,” she whispered, “is a sunbeam for breakfast dipped in milk.”.
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