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“He smiles sich a toothy grin,” commented Moses. “Only little girls see fairies ever,” was the reply. “Oh Mosey,” cried Betty at the breakfast table, being first on the scene to arrange her flowers, “we’ll hev a spellin’ match to-day I bet.”.

“Oh, is that you, back here already?”I tried logging in using my phone number and I was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call me instead" option twice but didn't get a call either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call me instead fails.There was “Lucky stiff!” he said pleasantly. “Beat me to it, didn’t you?”

“Huh!” grunted Moses, “your ole turkey aint worth an eyestrain.” Another sound in a somewhat higher key was heard. Moses had simply modulated in his domestic symphony of labor from a major task to a minor one. As a change and refreshing recreation, Moses was allowed to turn the small wheat-mill. Ninety soul-stirring turns it required to empty the hopper once, and he must turn out enough flour for a batch of bread. His youthful soul was in revolt at such servitude. He had no sympathy to squander on the children of Israel in bondage vile. Making bricks for Pharoah was infantile amusement compared to his labor. “I guess so. Teacher says every live thing that’s happy works; birds, flowers, children; that those that won’t work shouldn’t eat. He says the greatest joy is to do the work you like best as well as you can.” Moses came bearing an achievement of spicy, opaque amber supported and surrounded by tantalizing, toast-brown crust. Before the expectant Mr. Wopp, however, had time to note these details, there was a quick rush of a small black and white object, a crash, some ear-splitting howls, as Moses, pie, Jethro, and one of Mrs. Wopp’s best blue dinner plates were precipitated against Mr. Wopp’s legs. Down his Sunday trousers meandered a yellow glacier which Mrs. Wopp regarded with dismay..