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Up, up Billy climbed. On the bare spaces, or balanced on the point of some slender rock, he stopped frequently to look down on the beautiful valley below; on little farms laid out checker-board fashion, dark green squares for orchards, lighter green for vineyards, with tree-lined lanes running between. Overhead fleecy clouds chased one another like freshly washed, woolly sheep across the blue pasture of the heavens. In the north the great blue mountain loomed, all its opalescent tints and shadows hidden till the setting of the sun should light them forth. Mrs. Bennett spoke frequently of the change in Billy. He was growing more thoughtful, observant. He remembered small duties, noticed if mother or sister looked tired or ill, and volunteered help where formerly he would not have known help was needed. Perhaps none of them knew, least of all May Nell herself, how lastingly her example of watchful kindness had impressed itself on Billy’s heart. “I’d love to, Billy,” Mrs. Lancaster whispered; “I’ve never liked being grown up.”.
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“Fer the love of mike, what’s that noise?” Moses’ eyes seemed to almost dart from his head. The others looked up as a distinct rustling was heard in the parlor. Moses was on his feet first. The noise came from the stove. But another and unexpected crash followed, and a shower of burning oil shot up and caught May Nell’s flimsy paper frock. “There’s a little secret about work; with grown-ups it is often their play; and they like it.” Ebenezer Wopp was the last silent word in patient masculinity, but his face, becoming darker with his work, would lead an onlooker to believe that sinister thoughts were struggling to find expression..
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