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CHAPTER VI.—AN EVENING IN THE WOPP PARLOR. “Last November,” piped Evelyn. “I love, thou lovest, he loves,” said Clarence, scornfully, in answer to this preposterous question..
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“An’ well I know who’s makin’ him stew an’ chomp. You needn’t try to deceive yer, Mar,” chided the knowing matron. ‘twine, Moses was whistling a dismal discordant air in the backyard when the voice of his mother smote his ears. “‘You bet’ isn’t nice,” the child chid gently, and waited a moment before continuing. “My papa won’t let my mama work. He went to South America to get rich. When he comes back, he wrote in a letter to me, I shall be as rich as a princess.”.
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