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He had left his traps,—the fight had sent all else flying out of his mind. No matter. He could set them in some vineyard. Already the short grass on the hills was brown, and many of the wild flowers were past their blooming. The rabbits would be seeking the tender green of the vines, the purpling alfalfa, standing lush and sweet, ready for mowing. Billy hurried away, and arrived at his home before the hack, bread and cream safe in spite of threatened dangers. “Why, Billy, what has happened to make you think so?”.
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“Hurry up, Moses,” she called, as soon as her joy had subsided, “git those pipes finished an’ go arfter yor chores.” He sat by the table in his dressing-room with angry storm-swept countenance. He had been capturing loud plaudits with his rag-time, until intoxicated with success, he swept into a tornado of music by Moskowski. The applause died away; two ladies in the front row began chatting. The enraged artist jumped from the piano-stool, and shouting “Pigs!” raced from the platform. When the program was over Moses noticed enviously that Betty was so close to the orchestra that her ear was almost in the trombone. “She’s the swellest looking one in the whole school,” he whispered to his smiling mother..
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