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Updated: May 21, 2025
I be a Nature's cheel an' doan't b'lieve in no devil an' no hell-fire 'tall." "I wish I was a Nachur's cheel then." Joan flung down a little bouquet of starry stitchworts she had gathered upon the way and turned very earnestly to Tom. "You be, you be a Nature's cheel. Us all be, but awnly a few knaws it." Tom laughed at this idea mightily.
Look at thicky cat, breakin' her heart, poor twoad!" Mr. Bartlett was justly angry that Joan could dare to thus class his priceless red-headed twins with a litter of dead kittens, and he said more than was wise, ramming home a truth, and that coarsely. "Theer's plenty more wheer them comed from, I lay. Nachur's so free, you see tu free like sometimes.
"Well, I'll slip back long, Joan; an' if I be a Nachur's cheel, I be; but I guess I'll keep it a secret. If I tawld faither as I dedn' b'lieve in no auld devil, I guess he'd hurry me into next world so's I might see for myself theer was wan." They walked a little way together. Then Tom grew frightened and stopped his companion.
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