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“But Roderick Dhu died from fighting Fitz-James; I hate to give Jimmy a dying part.”,What more might he do to hasten the Saturday work? He could not chop the kindling or fill the wood boxes. The weeding! It was behind. Both mother and sister had reminded him repeatedly, but he had forgotten. Only yesterday his sister had made tidy the flower beds that flanked the house; but the melons, the vegetables,—they were not done, and that would make no noise.,“Well?” she questioned.,“Jiminy whiz! This is my very last week of boy; next week I’ll have to be a man,” he said gloomily.,“Wait, Billy! You are hurt, badly. Let me see.” She put out a detaining hand.,“My mama doesn’t believe in public school,” she had announced that first Monday morning; but had gone obediently when Mrs. Bennett decided it best. And the new life, the stimulation of study, the competition in class, her knowledge of books, and the prestige of her story,—these made school a delight, brought a happy light to her eye, a tinge of color to her too fair cheek.,This account of the abruptly ended career of her predecessor was somewhat disturbing to Nell.,“She has a music class in Loma; and it isn’t dreamland, either, teaching; but she has to earn grub for me, sister does.” The frank statement of a truth he had grown accustomed to this morning roused a feeling of shame, and he gazed steadily at his plate.,At this point Moses looked up from his plate and complained, “Mar, this piece o’ meat I got, is so tough it hurts yer eyes to look at it.”,Billy stooped to tie shoestrings already tidy; he was gaining time for thinking. “I reckon doing things you don’t like is work, and doing things you do like is play,” he explained, doubtfully.,“No, no! Don’t, mother! I’ll run away! I’ll—” He groaned and left his sentence unfinished.,“This is a xylophone, take this little wooden hammer and play a few notes.” Moses took the hammer held out to him and striking a wooden bar brought out a weird but sweet sound. He struck several bars in succession and was enraptured to find that they produced a sort of veiled silvery music. “Sounds like the moon looks when you carnt see it fer clouds,” he mused, “Mar thinks I’d make a moosican, mebbe she’s right.”.