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They stood in a long row, and Henry Clay, pointing, began at the top and gave each child a word like this: "Eeny, meany, miny, mo; Cracky, feeny, finy fo; Ommer neutcha, popper teucha; Rick, bick, ban, do. "Oner-ry, oer-ry, ickery Ann; Phyllis and Phollis and Nicholas John; Queevy quavy, English Navy, Stinklum, stanklum, BUCK."
I rectified him there; but he still insists on your being called 'Finy, in the family, to distinguish you from the Midianitish woman." "And so Uncle Zabdiel thinks I have a poor name?" said I, laughing heartily. "The shield looks neither gold nor silver, from which side soever we gaze. But I think he might put up with my name!" My husband never knew exactly what I was laughing at.
Cracky feeny finy fo! and God looking in a little book to see if he got all the words right." "Anyway, I'm glad you weren't baptised, after what Father said to-day." "You'll be gladder still when you get out there where they got a full-grown man's God."
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