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“They’ll have to be done before vacation or not at all,” he answered, so seriously that May Nell wondered a little; wondered still more as the moments passed and the dark room grew very quiet. She did not know what purpose was growing in Billy’s mind, a purpose that largely concerned herself. This conversation took place in Billy’s shop, a room adjoining the wood-house and given over to his use. Nothing short of the world in the second verse of Genesis was equal to the chaos of that place. Every conceivable scrap and job lot of “truck” was there in a jumbled heap; and Billy was never happier than when mussing it over in search of “material”; in greasy overalls and crownless hat, whistling merrily, bringing forth to substance and form the inventions of his busy brain. St. Elmo hung back, electing to stay with the hero who had rescued him from the dangers of the wood..

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“Oh that is a little girl visiting us. My wife’s cousin is spending a week in Calgary and has brought an animated bunch of Alberta sage-brush with her.” “And help?” May Nell asked, eagerly. “My conscience! You can’t eat all—” May Nell stopped, conscious of an unkindness. But the boy only laughed; he was used to comments on his appetite. “Ain’t she her own aunt?” hazarded Mr. Wopp, abstractedly thrusting his hammer into his boot top and scratching his bald head with a pair of pincers..