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“Doh, re, mi, fah, soh, la, ti, doh,” sang the children in faint uncertain tones. “I must of looked like that Lize or the picter couldn’t of been took.” Ruefully he rubbed his bald crown. “No quarreling now. Come, Clarence, do as your mother asks.”.

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“As the door creaketh on his hinges, so the slugger turneth on his bed.” Liza Wopp’s voice was compelling in its significance. Through the rose-lit dreams of Moses, the sound and the awful words were like the threatenings of an approaching storm. He was standing disconsolate, looking up the street for stragglers, when his mother came in again. “Here you, Moses,” shouted his mother from the top of the stairs, “I heerd the pantry door squeakin’, no eatin’ till the job’s done.” She further informed him that stopping to eat “et inter his time too much an’ the work must be done afore dark.” As Mrs. Wopp adjusted her bonnet before leaving the house, she gave minute instructions to Mr. Wopp..