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“I like ‘Ladybird,’ but not ‘bully,’” the little girl returned shyly. Every back bent a little lower. Every face flushed a little rosier under its coat of grime. Praise from Billy was all they asked. “This froth looks like soapsuds,” he complained..

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And Billy, suddenly remembering who was being cheered, slid to his seat sheepishly, a cold feeling down his back, uncomfortable heat in his cheeks. “Kinder rocky.” On reaching the hay-loft all were seated with the least possible degree of discomfort on upturned soap-boxes and apple-boxes. Betty covered both windows with blankets and lit a lantern. She had constructed a pasteboard box with a large square opening and now set the lantern in such a way that a picture placed at the opening in the box was illuminated so that all could see it clearly. Betty showed her pictures in a well arranged order and her lively imagination supplied the connecting links in the story her lantern “slides” unfolded. “Don’t tell—must Edith and May Nell know?” he called after her. “Oh, all the town will—mother!” The anguish in his words halted her. “Mother, this wasn’t a boys’ scrap at all. I didn’t think of you or—or anything; an’ something must have squelched Betsey, she never peeped. Mother, I felt—I felt mad enough to kill him!” He whispered the awesome words..