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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Little boysh never can do anyfing nysh wivout bein' made to don't," said Toddie. "Dzust see what an awful big splinter I got in my hand when I was froin' wood on the fire! I didn't cry a bit about it then, 'cause I fought I was makin' uvver folks happy, like the Lord wants little boysh to. But they didn't get happy, so now I am goin' to cry 'bout the splinter!"
"Took whole bottoo full twas nysh," said he. Suddenly the label caught my eye it read PAREGORIC. In a second I had snatched a shawl, wrapped Toddie in it, tucked him under my arm, and was on my way to the barn. In a moment more I was on one of the horses and galloping furiously to the village, with Toddie under one arm, his yellow curls streaming in the breeze.
An' he made his little boy Isaac, that he was going to chop and burn up carry the kindlin' wood he was goin' to set him a-fire wiz. An' I want to know if you fink that wazh very nysh of him?" "Well, no," said Mr. Burton. "Tell you what," said Budge, "you don't ever catch me carryin' sticks up the mountain, even if my papa wants me to."
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