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“I’d love to, Billy,” Mrs. Lancaster whispered; “I’ve never liked being grown up.”,“And there are many times when the duty itself is disagreeable, yet doing it brings a finer joy than shirking it ever could bring.”,She clapped him into her own warm bed, and incredibly soon things were sizzling over the alcohol lamp.,Full of her thought she slipped from the couch, and went to the kitchen. “Mrs. Bennett, haven’t you some work a little girl could do?”,After the opening exercises of the Sunday-school session, Mrs. Wopp was pained to notice that some of her scholars did not consider attention to the lesson any part of their duty. However, that strict disciplinarian had a vast store of startling reprimands that set all eyes gazing on her sincere countenance.,At this mendacious statement Mrs. Wopp turned on her offspring a withering glance.,“Golly! They’re working all night. I—ought to—help—to-morrow. I—” He slept again with his good resolution half made.,she quoted glibly. “I know a lot more of it. Do you?”,Mrs. Bennett hugged her closer and patted her cheek softly, but let the passion of tears spend itself a little before trying the comfort of words. Then she questioned of the child’s parents, her past life, and the events just preceding the catastrophe in San Francisco, that she herself might better understand how to shield and make happy the little waif that a terrible, heaving earth had cast into her home, her arms.,“Do you know that piece of music called ‘The Rose of Larst Summer’?” inquired the musical connoisseur.,“I like Sunday School best ’cause I do things there.”,His fork having safely landed its cargo, Mr. Wopp laid it carefully down and remarking, “I must make a note of that,” he began to inscribe Nell’s diplomatic request. As he leaned over the paper, his head shone like a round china lamp-shade, its shining expanse relieved here and there, by long wisps of grey hair..