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“All right. I’m off!” Billy cuddled down in the low-growing manzanitas, whose screen was further thickened by a tangle of wild pea vines all a-bloom. Placing himself so that he could watch both the house and the man on the hill, he settled to await further disclosures. “I sorter hoped Moses’d take arter Uncle Josh, too,” she said, regretfully..

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“Stop that there ‘Dead March of Saul,’ an’ go put on yer overalls,” ordered Mrs. Wopp, “what’s the idear of the gardenin’ tool, go git the littlest shovel to put inter the chimbly, an’ don’t let the grass grow under yer feet, neither.” “Of course they won’t be too tired! The kids have pluck.” Amid the wealth of love how could the little heart refuse comfort? Billy tossed her to his shoulder and carried her to his mother’s room, where both women coddled her and Edith sang her into a sweet sleep. “Sister, she’ll be hunkey for the fairy queen in your Spring Festival, won’t she? She’s a regular progidy, isn’t she?” Billy’s eyes shone..