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“Don’t sit there wool-gatherin’ anyways, Mose, or the moths’ll nest in yer head. Ef you carn’t sing in toon, you kin bring up a cup of tea fer Miss Gordon an’ Mr. Eliot, an’ don’t fergit Betty an’ yer Mar.” “Mar,” he demanded hastily, “more marshed turnips, please.” Whose hearts never—”.

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“Sit near the front so you can give me inspiration, Miss Gordon,” the musician said in an undertone as he stood hat in hand ready to hurry off for the first show. Mr. Wells the clergyman was of English birth, very conservative and inclined to be shy. He was unusually tall with broad shoulders. Mrs. Wopp once said of him, “When Mr. Wells gits his gownd on, he’s the hull lan’scape.” The deeply pious lady seldom criticized things ecclesiastical; but she had “feelin’s that ef Ebenezer Wopp bed of took to larnin’ like his Mar wished, he’d of looked amazin’ well in that pulpit, better nor Mr. Wells.” Directly the invalid’s querulous demand for the rancher was made, Moses started off to fetch him. “To the park!” Billy shouted, his heart thumping with joy..