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“Pore Joe! Truly the way of the transgressor is hard. I feel bad fer him, to think he has to set round all evenin’ and carnt even git up to git a drink of water fer hisself.” “O mother, how can there be joy if life is all work and never any fun?” He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek. If he had been older he would have said he had “the blues.” Yet probably he would not have known that his mental—and physical—condition was a natural result of the long strain of previous weeks. All the children felt it. That morning the cousins, Clarence and Harry, who loved each other dearly, had come to blows in the Sunday School room before the teachers arrived, over the question of which one of them should marry Miss Edith. Clarence received a bloody scratch the full length of his palm from Harry’s Band of Mercy pin; while the careful parting disappeared from his own hair, and a red splotch marred the whiteness of his wide collar. No one can tell what further calamity might have happened had not the Twins opportunely arrived and questioned of the quarrel..

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Howard caught Nell’s gaze. He longed to gather the girl who had so completely captured his heart into his arms and kiss away their estrangement. “Well, the lack of Buzz shall not damage your show; I’ll go,” Mrs. Lancaster yielded. Clarence had crossed the Pons Asinorum; a series of intoxicated circles, with sharp-cornered triangles piercing their fat sides, bore eloquent testimony to his faltering steps. “Mebbe she’s all right,” admitted the boy..