“No, it can’t wait one minute longer’n it’ll take me to get to town. Maybe I can come back though.”,
“Say, little kid, what’s your name?” he asked, merrily, as he routed a great white cat from his own chair and placed it before the fire for the child.,
Betty was thoroughly engrossed in her subject. Her story was entirely of birds and flowers and fairies. True, the pictures did not realize in their movements the lightning-like rapidity of “really truly” moving pictures, but they moved as fast as the young eyes that followed them could wish..
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