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“This here thing looks like a mule with his ribs druv in an’ stan’in’ on his haunches. What d’ye call it?” Moses’ teeth chattered. It was not cold, but wash-day meant to the unhappy boy a dismal round of duties. In the hours of joy that followed, joy known only to boys and farms in conjunction, Billy,—and it was unusual for him,—more than once recalled his mother’s words; heeded them to the extent of bidding Harold a reluctant good-bye when the sun was still blazing high above the horizon. But when, on his way home, he came to the branching of the road his good resolution weakened. He looked back. The sun was surely more than an hour high. He would have time to go up the hill road to the “Ha’nt.” And, beside that, he wished to look at the river where its divided flow encircled a tiny, shrub-grown island..
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His mutterings rumbled along, a series of submerged imprecations. He paused for breath and as soon as he had accumulated enough for his dire purpose, he swore what was to him a long and fearful oath. In front of the stone steps that led up to the barred door he hesitated; but the dog raced round to the rear. Instantly Billy followed. “That boy’ll sartinly spill the tea,” prophecied Mrs. Wopp, with laughing pessimism. 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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