“O, Mosey, these leaves is lovely, an’ jist look here roun’ the edge, looks like the fairies has left footprints!”,
Evelyn relieved of her fear of the tottering kettle, roused to her charge. “Go ’way, Billy! Thank you, Billy. You mustn’t stay here! They’ll scold me. They said for me not to let you come; an’—”,
“Feel that muscle,” he said a moment later; bending his arm, and pressing her fingers to it. “That’s got to grow by a broom or hoe, something besides football!”.
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