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One brilliant Sunday Mr. Wells paced up and down in the sunshine before his little church. An ardent lover of nature he was admiring the beautiful shades of the foliage on either hand and the gorgeous masses of golden-rod that lifted feathery heads to the sun. Presently seeing two or three vehicles approaching he retired into the church. “We’ll play there’s a strike in the saw-mills, Dutchy, and this is scab labor,” Billy excused amiably. And for a fact the white cotton string carried the messages quite safely from the “Front,” where Jimmy and George laid out the “line” over wonderful grades, across impossible gorges; and “wired” back for further orders. Harry Potter was the operator at the “Front,” and Vilette,—“Women do operate, you know,” she said,—Vilette was the proud holder of “the key” at Headquarters, where Clarence Hammond strutted around as Messenger; and because he was the “son of the Boss,” bullied his Cousin Harry unmercifully. “Where are you going to take me?” she asked, trying to equal his long stride..
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Conrad
“Yeh, Mar says I’m a reglar jographer I like it so much.” “You’re the only girl I’m afraid of in that line. Isn’t that so, Pretty?” “That’s good enough for me, then,” he said, sleepily. And no one ever heard him mention again his unexpected addition to the scene. The inexorable portrait on the wall seemed to gaze down on the recalcitrant youth with disapproval..
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