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“Wisht that orful pitcher ’d fall inter the swill-pail an’ then turn a somerset in the soot-pile,” murmured the boy as he noticed the care exercised over its safety. “O Billy, he’s so beautiful and so clever; and he put his nose up to Flash so gratefully. Flash just mewed again, low as before, and walked off round the house. And Tom went and ate his breakfast.” Not far behind the democrat came a light buggy drawn by a team of greys. Howard Eliot and Nell Gordon sat therein..
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IT was a gray, cold day, unusual for May, the kind of day that accords with ill-nature. It reminded Billy of the incident of the opera when Rain and Storm, driven by his own insistence, had blown in on the stage quite out of season, and dragged off with them the remnants of winter. For the first Sunday since May Nell’s coming he took his wheel after dinner and went off alone. He was in accord with the sullen sky and air. In the morning he had answered his mother angrily; because Bouncer wished to play instead of coming through the gate when called, Billy had slammed it on his tail, knowing well that in a happier mood he would have been more careful. Billy stooped to tie shoestrings already tidy; he was gaining time for thinking. “I reckon doing things you don’t like is work, and doing things you do like is play,” he explained, doubtfully. “Mar,” he demanded hastily, “more marshed turnips, please.” Not deigning to notice this irrelevant interruption the teacher proceeded..
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