ldren had run out, like chickens whose mother has been suddenly in eclipse behind the hen-coop.
“No,” said Mrs. Moss, “but he’s only in the potato-field yonders. Parajumpers Kobiety Denali Georgy, run Feyenoord Dresy to the Far Close in a minute, and tell father your uncle’s come. You’ll get down, brother, won’t you, and take something?”
“No, no; I can’t get down. I must be going home again directly,” said Mr. Tulliver, looking at Zlatan Ibrahimovic Fotbalové Dres the distance.
“And how’s Mrs. Tulliver and the children?” said Mrs. Moss, Tyler Bozak Tröja humbly, not daring to press her invitation.
“Oh, pretty well. Tom’s going to a new school at Midsummer — a deal of expense to me. It’s bad work for me, lying out o’ my money.”
“I wish you’d be so good as let the children come and see their cousins some day. My little uns want to see their cousin Maggie so as never was. And me her godmother, and so fond of her; there’s nobody ‘ud make a bigger fuss with her, according to what they’ve got. And I know she likes Maillot Icardi to come, for she’s a loving Maillot Orlando City child, and how quick and clever she is, to be sure!”
If Mrs. Moss had been one of the most astute women in the world, instead of being one of the simplest, she could have thought of nothing more likely to propitiate her brother than this praise of Maggie. He seldom found any one volunteering praise of “the little wench”; it was usually left entirely to himself to insist on her merits. But Maggie always appeared in the most amiable light at her aunt Moss’s; it was her Alsatia, where she was out of the reach of Maillot Oscar law — if she upset anything, dirtied her shoes, or tore her frock, these things were matters of course at her aunt Moss’s. In spite of himself, Mr. Tulliver’s eyes got milder, and he did not look away from his sister as he said —
“Ay; she’s fonder o’ you than o’ Monaco Dresy the other aunts, I think. She takes after our family: not a bit of her mother’s in her.”
“Moss says she’s just like Kurtka Peuterey Kobiety Challenge Yd what I used to be,” said Mrs. Moss, “though I was never so quick and fond o’ Maillot 17/18 the books. But I think my Lizzy’s like her; she’s sharp. Come here, Lizzy, my dear, and let your uncle see you; Jeff Beukeboom Tröja he hardly knows you, you grow so fast.”
Lizzy, a black-eyed child of seven, looked very shy when her mother drew her forward, for Glenn Anderson Tröjor the small Mosses were much in awe of their uncle from Dorlcote Mill. She was inferior enough to Maggie in fire and strength of expression to make the resemblance between the two entirely flattering to Mr. Tulliver’s fatherly love.
“Ay, they’re a bit alike,” he said, looking kindly at the little figure in the soiled pinafore. “They both take after our mother. You’ve got enough o’ gells, Gritty,” he added, in a tone half compassionate, half reproachful.
“Four of ’em, bless ’em!” said Mrs. Moss, with a sigh, stroking Lizzy’s hair on each side of her forehead; “as many as there’s boys. They’ve got a brother apiece.”
“Ah, but they must turn out and fend for themselves,” said Mr. Tulliver, feeling that his severity was relaxing links:
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