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“Not many of us would, Mrs. Wopp,” remarked Mrs. Bliggins, a small fair woman with a round placid countenance. “What with cookin’, an’ washin’, an’ cleanin’, an’ buttermakin’, an’ hundreds of other things, there’s not much time for fancy work.” “Well, he ain’t dead; he’s alive and bully, with a wad that bulges. I’m going to take you to him.” The Mifsud ranch-house was situated in a valley close to Ripple Creek. This stream was guarded in its serpentine course by a fringe of trees which extended several rods on each side. Moses drove up to the house door with a flourish and his passengers alighted. His mother paused a moment to urge, “Be sure an’ git yer chores done early, Moses, an’ you an’ Par be here fer supper by six o’clock.”.
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“Wisht I hed a chance to holler into one of them brass dinner-horns, too,” he grumbled. “Don’t feel so bad, Chick,” he comforted; “it won’t bring them to life, and it hurts you. That’s why you don’t grow faster; your feelings eats up all your blood.” “Sure. All the kids. But Clarence especially,—he’s my son, you know.” Billy grinned. Jean hid a queer little smile that she could not repress..
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