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“I didn’t say in my state,” denied Rodney. “I said out west. And we have—stacks of them! They’re not so—so placid, maybe, but they’re much grander and—and picturesquer.”

“They’re not,” said Matty indignantly.

“They are,” said Rodney firmly.

“They couldn’t be! How could they? Why—why——”

“Still, Matty, we don’t know,” interposed May cautiously, “and so perhaps we oughtn’t to contradict him. I don’t think it is very nice of him to say our river isn’t beautiful, but maybe he doesn’t see beauty. They say some folks don’t. It—it’s a deficiency, you know.”

“Beauty!” scoffed Rodney. “Why——”

“Perhaps you’re right, May,” said the other twin thoughtfully. “And so—we beg your pardon for contradicting you.”

“Both of us,” added May earnestly.

“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the boy, his good nature restored. “I guess I contradicted you, too. Besides, I didn’t mean that your river isn’t a very nice river, because it is. I—I guess you might call it beautiful,” he added magnanimously.

“And of course you do have perfectly wonderful rivers in the west,” replied Matty. “We’ve read about some of them and seen pictures of them, haven’t we, May?”

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