Mrs. Wopp leaning towards a lady on her right inquired, “Do you know Mis’ Stephens, why Joe Avery is not dancin’ this evenin’. Ever sence we come into this here barn he has never moved from his seat.”,
He feeds his horse on corn and beans.,
The pianist took a long look at Nell who had been visibly affected by his playing. Misgivings that date back to Eden were leaping into life in his breast. He had been in love more times than he could count, but here was the girl after all. He began a Scherzo of his own composition. Youth gathering flowers at the open mouth of a volcano. The melody was born to live forever. He was a genius. Now Nell knew it and her soul worshipped genius. Howard Eliot was far from her thoughts as she listened to the enchanting chain of melodies that poured forth.,
The perturbed lady wisely let the question pass not being absolutely clear herself as to the operation involved in the casting of lots. She hastened to take up the thread of the story.
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Having disposed of the song, dear to her mother’s heart, in spite of the protestations of Moses, Betty went to the kitchen and in a few moments returned with a steaming pot of tea.,
“Who wants to drive my trained bear an’ monkey? Only a dime stranger, only a dime!”,
Nell looked toward the morning-glory garden and there she saw Betty kneeling in the moonlight. Jethro was sitting up on his hind legs beside the little figure, holding his paws before him. The moonlight fell on his penitential white body, on the stiff braids of the sorrowful and contrite Betty, and lighted up the bright yellow nasturtiums that filled the air with their pungent odor. The morning-glory leaves gleamed in the pure white light.,
“Doubtless it is incorporated in the language of some foreign people,” conceded Mrs. Mifsud, languidly.
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As the program went on Moses finally caught the eye of his little sister. The joyful news was passed on and Nell looked up, but it was a disconcertingly cold look that returned her inquiring gaze at Howard. So frigid was his expression that she did not attempt to turn her head in that direction again. From time to time Betty turned to wave her hand thereby causing much merriment among those who watched her childish enjoyment.
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“I mix up words that way sometimes, too,” the child excused.
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Through the Stygian darkness of the loft loomed the figure of Mrs. Wopp, a white apron of huge dimensions indicating her presence. She made as though to descend the ladder.
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