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“You are not a baby, my son; you’ll soon be a man, and it’s time you did your own thinking. Don’t be late for dinner.” “Well I only go ’way about onct in a blue moon,” declared Mrs. Wopp, “an’ I feel so unsartin ’bout everything. Here we are a pack of Gadarene swine goin’ orff to a great city to eat husks I s’pose like the prodigal son. Never mind Ebenezer we’ll come back right glad I’ll bet to the fatted calf.” She pinched his ear in an elephantine playfulness as though he might be the fatted calf himself. “I think the linin’ of Miss Gordon’s cloud needs polishin’ these days,” ventured Betty, shyly..

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However, the stove-pipe was at last cleaned and ready to put up. Moses’ moroseness had by now developed into a complaint, the chief symptoms of which were sniffling and coughing. “All right,” Billy acquiesced with a nonchalant tact; “I thought Sour’n Shifty’d make good surveyors, Pretty; but I guess you can do that an’ your own job too, can’t you?” Billy turned to Harold, while George watched to see what Jimmy did. Still no St. Elmo. They proceeded a considerable distance down the creek. Still, since Billy had broken his resolution of silence, he was feverishly eager to talk. His thoughts were erratic, now in the present, again flying back to the past. “O mother, you should be lickin’ me ’nstead of petting me!” he broke out passionately..