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[[underlined]] 7 [[/underlined]]

winters did not drive him from his work. The long bleak room in the log house has been exchanged for a neat church, [[strikethrough]] paint [[/strikethrough]] with its [[strikethrough]] bell [[/strikethrough]] steeple where hangs the bell — pealing out its Sunday greeting. As one looks [[strikethrough]] at the [[/strikethrough]] and listens, one could fancy that some New England village church had come to light to kindle memories of "days that are no more." The fancy would soon fade however for the people who are gathering are unlike the sombre hued white folk in their dress. Over the edge of the red shawl or blanket of a woman peers a little [[strikethrough]] black [[/strikethrough]] head, covered with thick black hair. Babies come to church [[strikethrough]] as soon [[/strikethrough]] clinging about their mother's necks as soon as it is possible for the woman to go out. I have seen [[strikethrough]] the [[/strikethrough]] a wee thing [[strikethrough]] s [[/strikethrough]] only a few weeks old, winking its black eyes, as the mother slipped it off her back into her arms