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A rattlebanging cart, with jangling bells on a string across the back, a galled jade of a horse, broken traces, mismated lines whoa! giddap, there! oh Warble, come with me!" He swooped her up in one gigantic arm, but she slipped through and running around, faced him impishly. "Would you really like me to go ridy-by in your wagon, and curl up in the rags and watch the stars shoot around overhead?"
Perched on his shoulder was Baby May, her tiny hands grasping his thick, wavy hair, and her tiny feet kicking, as she squealed in glee. "Misser Bill my horsie," she announced. "Me go ridy-by." "IS there something on my shoulder?" asked Bill, seemingly unconscious of his burden. "I thought a piece of thistledown lighted there, but it may have blown off."
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