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Down by the corner there was a candy and notion store, kept by an old woman with a queer wrinkled face framed in with a wide cap-ruffle. She had a funny turned-up nose, as if it had hardly known which way to grow, and such round red-apple cheeks. When it was pleasant, she sat in the doorway, regardless of the fate of the heroic young woman of Norway. "Good day!" she ejaculated. "The Lord bless ye.
Yon's got a pretty face, an' I hope it will bring her good fortune." She nodded, and her cap-ruffle flapped over her face. "If ye see that omadhawn of a Biddy Brady in yer travels, jist send her home. The babby's screamin' himself into fits. Won't her mother give it to her whin she comes in!" Down below the next corner, there was a throng of children.
"Toler'ble fat," she commented with grave self-complacence. "He 'minds me sorter o' that thar tremenjious buck we hed las' September. HE war the fattes' buck I ever see. Take off his hide right straight." The big cap-ruffle flapped didactically. "Lor'-a massy, woman!" vociferated the testy old man; "ain't I a- goin' ter?
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