Moses and Betty, hearing what promised to add spice to their evening, quickly entered the room. Mrs. Wopp who always had to know the joke, conspired at once to get rid of the youngsters.,
Vigorously cleaning up the still bewildered victim, Mrs. Wopp hurled fresh orders.,
He looked at the beaming faces, at the beautiful table with Jean’s great pagoda cake in the centre, the dates, 1893-1906, in evergreen; at the flowers everywhere; at the dishes,—they usually ate from vine leaves at their out-of-door feasts,—at the paper napkins folded fantastically and hovering over the table like gay butterflies. His eloquent face told his surprise, his gratitude, his delight. He opened his mouth to speak some fitting word, but it wouldn’t come. He tried again, for he felt the occasion called for something formally appreciative. But only a whimsical idea flitted into his mind; and he sang back—.
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