Betty said her prayers that night before her cyclamen. It seemed to her a “mornin’-glory that had been growed by an angel, its petals sparkled so, an’ it smelled so pure.” She breathed very softly her thanksgiving, with a vague feeling that it had wings and could find its way better than she knew.
rummy logo, “Let him play to-day, mother,” she pleaded, when the two stepped into the hall; “he can be a boy only once.”
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rummy logo “Put a li’l shoe-black on then an’ that’ll make me dark again,” advised Betty serenely..
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