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‘The lighter pine trees overhead,’,

The pianist sat easily at the piano and began the Moskowski selection that had failed to create the expected furore in the afternoon. A cadenza that shivered down the spine like spray from a glacial torrent wakened the room. Then he plunged into the first theme. His small audience listened spell-bound. Betty’s eyes followed the fingers that leaped over the ivory keys like white flame. A subtle current began to play in the room. Steadily it grew in power. Magnetism to the nth degree was being generated. A tremendous chord brought the music to a close and the pianist to his feet. Something in Nell’s glance inspired him. He whirled about the room whistling and imitating some of the cadenzas and other passages from the selection just played. He gesticulated wildly with his hands, the passion for dramatic music oozing from his pores.,

The bun in question must have had great dynamic force, the tail of Jethro bearing evidence to the internal power generated.,

“Maria, where is St. Elmo?” asked Mrs. Mifsud, as with flushed face she basted some fowls in the oven.

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“Here are more beads of wampum, Betty, as I have no garden.” Nell Gordon’s silver donation added appreciably to the weight of the collection box.,

The child had been content to extract but fleeting moments of sweetness from the confection and as the weeks passed had in the time-honored custom kept the canes shining. Thus accumulated quite a bagful of the tempting sweets. These she sold to a haughty plutocrat at school for a dime. This coin of the realm made a pleasing clatter in her wooden box; but she reflected, not without some degree of logic, that ten cents would not go very far in carrying salvation to the suffering heathen in Africa.,

“This here flower aint a mornin’-glory, but the leaves is mighty like it, an’ the flowers is jist as purty.” Moses explained.,

Several ladies of the district were already busy “scttin’ up” the quilt when Mrs. Wopp and her satellites entered the Mifsud parlor.