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“I’d love to, Billy,” Mrs. Lancaster whispered; “I’ve never liked being grown up.” “Yes; and we’ll have to train the dogs,— Whoopee! Only four weeks of school. We’ll have to hurry if we do the circus and “Lady of the Lake” both before vacation.” “We left him by the creek, Ma, playing in the sand,” was the reply. “When Betty and me tried to make him come in he slapped us.”.
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Conrad
Full of her thought she slipped from the couch, and went to the kitchen. “Mrs. Bennett, haven’t you some work a little girl could do?” As far as general knowledge went, Betty was a complete encyclopedia ahead of Moses. That youth’s brains had too many labyrinthine passages through which knowledge meandered and got lost to ever lay claim to erudition. As for creative ability, Betty imbibed ideas at every pore. She took odd moments of her busy days and patching them together made hours of creative joy, a sort of mental Joseph’s coat of rainbow brightness. “Well, he ain’t dead; he’s alive and bully, with a wad that bulges. I’m going to take you to him.” “Sunday School, too? How long you’ll be away!”.
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