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“I’m sorry to make you late with your mowing, Billy, but I must have you go out to Mrs. Prettyman’s for some cream she promised me.” “This is a lyre, very old,” said Mr. Crump, handling an ancient instrument tenderly. Moses looked up suddenly, he hoped nothing he had said called forth the remark. Mrs. Wopp’s suggestion had an immediate and salutary effect on the boy..

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“Oh no Betty,” Moses tones were of an elder-brotherly authority, “yer li’l han’s aint meant fer sich servitood. I’d not stan’ by an’ see you do that.” With all his teasing at times, Moses adored his little foster-sister. He idealized her, and as Mrs. Wopp had often remarked, whenever Betty left his presence he saw her ascend into heaven in a “Whirlwin’ of fire, an’ go-cart of flame.” “Jeth could whip your ole mongrel; but I don’t warnt him bit up,” called Moses over his shoulder as he walked away. To this taunt Clarence replied only with a hideous grimace. “Train? Is she going away?” The small girl’s face grew sorrowful. From the kitchen came an unmistakeable odor of cheese. Ebenezer Wopp was having a slight snack before retiring. With the back of his nervous hand he was wiping from the corners of his mouth the telltale crumbs..