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Harold turned and looked to where May Nell stood with the twins, sorting her flowers. “Isn’t she a daisy, though? Little—why, she’s only a baby.”,

However, the stove-pipe was at last cleaned and ready to put up. Moses’ moroseness had by now developed into a complaint, the chief symptoms of which were sniffling and coughing.,

“All this turnin’ is good for the liver too you know,” she continued, as her son’s vinegary expression remained unaltered.,

“Oh, aint it beaut-i-ful?” admired Betty. The creation which she admired so immensely was made of pieces of silk of many colors and was reminiscent of numerous long-defunct waists, ribbons, neckties, hats and, perhaps, even a few wedding gowns which had travelled from several corners of the globe to be welded together in this glorious finale. The pieces, irregular in shape, had been sewn together and the seams beautified by feather-stitching. On the majority of the patches were names worked in red, green or yellow, whichever color contrasted most suitably with the background. Here, for the nominal sum of ten cents, names which might otherwise have fallen into oblivion were destined to live and bloom for incalculable years. The quilt now nearing completion would, when finished by its energetic creators, be sold at auction and it was expected to bring a handsome sum. The money so realized would revive the drooping finances of the Ladies’ Aid.

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“Mother,” he resumed, “I know I must freeze to some sort of business, and that mighty soon, too. But a preacher—why, he can’t be like anybody. He never has any fun.”,

He outrivalled all his efforts of the week, being recalled again and again. Betty was delighted with the nods and smiles that the great man was directing towards Nell and herself and Mrs. Newman; but from his attitude and the blushes of Nell, more than one in the audience knew who was the fountain of his inspiration. The hopes of one stalwart young man in particular rapidly fell to zero.,

Betty entered the room last and was rendered almost speechless when she saw the birthday cake. She knew it would have one more candle than the cake for her last birthday had, but, O wonder of wonders! Around the edge was a wreath of morning-glories, made of pink and white icing, and in the heart of each was a silver dew-drop!,

“You’re George Rideout Smith’s kid, ain’t you?”