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Going down the stairs his loud unmelodious singing reached the ears of those in the bedroom. When he arrived at the foot, Betty, whose ears were attuned to all acts of outlawry, had reason to believe that Moses performed three successive somersaults.,

This small boy seemed to accept the limitations of his lot with a Micawber-like philosophy. Indeed it may easily have escaped his youthful notice, that there were persons in the world who did not have to spend a day in bed while their clothing was being washed. To Mannel a second set of garments, even of so simple a character as those he constantly wore, would have seemed untold wealth.,

“Now, Moses, look sharp. Quit yer foolin’ an’ git busy,” called Mrs. Wopp, to the son and heir, whose toilet was not even begun. She herself was busy braiding Betty’s fair hair. “Be sure to warsh yer neck an’ ears. Larst party we was to, Mis’ Williams says to me, she says, ‘Is that your Moses settin’ on that bench? La me! he seems darker complected than I ever seed him before. I thort he were some Arfrican,’ she says. I hev always been a godly woman, Moses, ef I do go to a dance now an’ agin. Anyhow, the good book says there is a time to dance, but it aint got no patience with dirt. Git yerself cleaned up, then go an’ hook up the team.”,

She made a quaint picture curled in a big chair under the window, where a lifted corner of the curtain gave light to the book, but left the rest of the room dark. It pleased her to play teacher. She asked Billy numberless questions, coaxed him to explain what she did not understand. And he soon learned that one must know a thing very well before he can tell it. He dictated some of the written work, and she transcribed it in her prim little script.

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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.,

Outside the spring warmth and fragrance enfolded the children as a mantle, opening their hearts to each other. Billy showed his flock of pigeons, his white chickens and the house where they roosted and brought forth their fluffy broods. Old Bouncer barked and capered about them; and the little girl tried to decide which cat was the prettiest, white Flash watching for gophers in the green alfalfa, or Sir Thomas Katzenstein, his yellow mate, basking in the sun. “He isn’t yellow like any other cat I ever saw; he’s shaded so beautifully.”,

He lifted the board, trying its weight. Could he ever get it safely placed? Higher he lifted it, and began to let it drop; but he saw that if the other end missed the window sill, it would pull him down to the court below. Frantic, he stared about for help, for inspiration. He dared not wait till the passers came in hearing; the sound of his voice calling might too soon rouse men inside, make them shoot perhaps. As it was he expected every minute to see a swarthy face appear, a hand with a knife or pistol. It was not for himself he feared, but for May Nell, the little girl who for some strange reason was worth something to these desperadoes, and whose life would be on his soul if he did not save her.,

“Clarence will tell the men where to instal their teams,” the hostess reflected. The boy, who had fought shy of this mere woman’s party, had spent the afternoon in the barn.