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THE next morning Billy had a “temperature.” His mother decided against school for that day. At first he was glad. He didn’t care if he had forty temperatures. He thought almost anything in the way of fever was cooler than he would feel if the boys—and the girls—should see his face. Not that this was the first time he had been scratched in a fight; before he had not cared who knew. To-day it was different,—there were things about this fight he wished he could forget, even though he knew Jimmy was not likely to die. “Can you drive?” he asked, anxiously, as he unhitched the horse. He noticed with a second sinking feeling that Jimmy’s face twitched with pain, that his right arm hung limp. But May Nell was not to be comforted, till that evening when she composed a wonderful ode to “The Wreck of the Fair Ellen.”.
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Conrad
“You have, you have, dear baby! I’ll be your mother, and you can call me ‘mamma’ as Billy does.” The first sign of return to health was indicated by a slight querulousness that invalids seem to claim as their prerogative. The convalescent wanted books and pictures, her discarded favorite, Hannah, stiff with long neglect, and her pets individually and collectively. Then having run the gamut of dumb playmates, she called for her beloved friends. The fairies, gnomes, and elves, danced, sang, and retired; elves and gnomes crouching close against trees and rocks, the fairies withdrawing only to reappear one by one as the music went on, here and there, high in the trees; and each had a tiny light on her brow. But just over Flora and Sun, poised and upheld by invisible wires, stood the Queen of the Fairies, crown, wand, and shoulders fire-tipped, her arms waving, her filmy draperies continually fluttering, fanned by an artificial breeze. Over all fell a rain of rose leaves. “O, Mosey, these leaves is lovely, an’ jist look here roun’ the edge, looks like the fairies has left footprints!”.
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