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“Aint that wonderful Miss Gordon? An’ Betty never had a lesson in her life. She jist naterly takes to music,” said Mrs. Wopp complacently. “Lady of the Lake?” she finished quickly in a question. “Do you know that, too? I love it.” “Where you’ll be safe till I let your father know I’ve got you.”.
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“Jiminy whiz! This is my very last week of boy; next week I’ll have to be a man,” he said gloomily. Had he but dreamed on for an hour or so he would have returned, rested, refreshed, the cheery boy that helped to make the Bennett house a home. But a voice in the road above startled him. Only a word was spoken, a greeting; but it was surly and foreign, Italian. “My feet’s purty well jolted up inter my head,” cried the uncomfortable rider. But Betty insisted on his getting full value for his money, and dared him to descend until the round of the arena had been completed. “That boy’ll sartinly spill the tea,” prophecied Mrs. Wopp, with laughing pessimism..
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