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“How nice, Betty,” answered Nell, who had threaded her needle and was now prepared to join those already busily stitching away. “You and I will travel down the ages side by side.” Next followed a buckboard gaily painted red. Mrs. Mifsud and her daughter Maria aged fourteen who had taken a “quarter” of music lessons and was now the organist of the church, were occupants. Between them was wedged the pet of the family St. Elmo Mifsud a child of four. St. Elmo wore long chestnut curls and an angelic expression. Clarence Egerton Crump, Mrs. Mifsud’s nephew who was visiting his aunt and cousins, accompanied the family on his wheel. “That’s the reason. She says a boy will spoil the part; won’t get the shivers like she will. She thinks a minstrel can’t—can’t minstrelize properly without the shivers.”.
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Upstairs the lightning filled Betty’s room with a weird intermittent radiance. The child had become increasingly drowsy and asked Howard to sing her to sleep. “I was looking foh Jonah and the whale he met on the woad, and I got losted, I did.” St. Elmo ended his fantastic explanation with an extensive gulp. Moses took a small grubby hand in his and led the afflicted boy in triumph to the other searchers. “Personally, I should be agreeably disposed to requesting Mr. Wopp to officiate,” answered the lady addressed. The strains of “Red Wing” having died away, Mrs. Wopp busied herself setting up the crokinole board. “Me and Par won’t play, jist the young folks,” she announced..
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