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“Wot’s the use of livin’ if Betty grows them there wings they talk of?” he demanded of the fowl as they scurried from his path. Mrs. Wopp was an incurable optimist, although the citadel of her optimism was being assailed. Turning her wrathful gaze from Moses, her eye lighted on the soiled pink hat and antimacassar still worn by Job. She burst into a hearty laugh and turned to Betty. May Nell! Where was she? He had forgotten her! It must be three—four— Oh, how late was it? Was she safe? Or had she fainted from fright; and was she lying there now, helpless? He looked across the plashing river to the green, blossoming isle, grateful for water and grass and green shrub, and the sheltering Lodge that would keep her safe from the fire. Yet the terror of being there alone, of seeing that awful sheet of flame sweep down the mountain to her very feet,—perhaps a fainting spell,—that surely must have followed,—with no one there to revive her, it might be—fatal!.

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“O Billy, it hurts the ears of my mind to hear you say those vulgar words.” May Nell, playing “man” for the first time in her life, looked up from the “rod of grade” that she was piling deftly with a broken shingle. The color from sun and exercise added much to her beauty. She was neither blowsy nor smudged like the other children, and her lawn frock was as spotless as in the morning. Jean was for following in spite of Billy’s commands; but Mrs. Bennett, full of apprehension, insisted that the girl should go with her; and the two set out in search of help. “I love, thou lovest, he loves,” said Clarence, scornfully, in answer to this preposterous question. “I’ll wrestle with you first chance,” he challenged; “but you wouldn’t have any show, your dress is so long. Why do you have ’em so?”.