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The Little Colonel by Annie Fellows Johnston
page 19 of 81 (23%)

She was industriously stirring something in an old rusty pan with a big,
battered spoon.

"Now, May Lilly," she ordered, speaking to the largest and blackest of
the group, "you run an' find some nice 'mooth pebbles to put in for
raisins. Henry Clay, you go get me some moah sand. This is 'most too
wet."

"Here, you little pickaninnies!" roared the Colonel, as he recognized
the cook's children. "What did I tell you about playing around here,
tracking dirt all over my premises? You just chase back to the cabin
where you belong!"

The sudden call startled Lloyd so that she dropped the pan, and the
great mud pie turned upside down on the white steps.

"Well, you're a pretty sight!" said the Colonel, as he glanced with
disgust from her soiled dress and muddy hands to her bare feet.

He had been in a bad humour all morning. The sight of the steps covered
with sand and muddy tracks gave him an excuse to give vent to his cross
feelings.

It was one of his theories that a little girl should always be kept as
fresh and dainty as a flower. He had never seen his own little daughter
in such a plight as this, and she had never been allowed to step outside
of her own room without her shoes and stockings.

"What does your mother mean," he cried, savagely, "by letting you run
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