“Don’t you think the new teacher is jist lovely Moses, with her big shinin’ blue eyes an’ wavy black hair?” Betty eagerly enquired, “An’ aint her clothes lovely too?”,
What if the Italians should be there? Impossible. Surely they would be on the mountain fighting fire. What if the door should be locked? The thought made him tremble, yet he hurried on and softly tried the handle. It would not open!,
“Now Mosey, you be ticket man at the gate an’ I’ll hev the circus all ready,” cried Betty bounding into the house in the shortest possible time after the departure of the elderly merrymakers.,
“You can send some one after us, a man—not you, not either of you,” he called back over his shoulder, and was soon out of sight.
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Presently the little Chinese boy returned, his grin resumed, and a large basket on his arm.,
But Jean spoke at once and heartily. “Here’s to our latest addition. May she never be subtracted from us. Already she’s multiplied our joys, yet we hope she’ll not have to divide our woes.”,
May Nell! Where was she? He had forgotten her! It must be three—four— Oh, how late was it? Was she safe? Or had she fainted from fright; and was she lying there now, helpless? He looked across the plashing river to the green, blossoming isle, grateful for water and grass and green shrub, and the sheltering Lodge that would keep her safe from the fire. Yet the terror of being there alone, of seeing that awful sheet of flame sweep down the mountain to her very feet,—perhaps a fainting spell,—that surely must have followed,—with no one there to revive her, it might be—fatal!,
The boy was very still for a little, but burst out presently: “I’m going to work, mother; as soon as school closes I’ll start.”
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.
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“Anyhow, Mar, that fust punkin pie Par got was a howlin’ success.”
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wtsjz-Wong,
It’s a Quan-Yuan
“Better quit tarlkin’, Moses, an’ let the picter show go on so’s we kin hev supper, everythin’s laid an’ ready.”
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“But it’s a secret,” she whispered in smothered distress. “Please to go!”
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Halin-Chen Response,
>“We’ll have to go and tell Ma,” said Maria.
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