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"Why don't you get married yourself, Peg?" queried Uncle Roger
teasingly. We held our breath over his temerity.
"Because I'm not so easy to please as your wife will be," retorted
Peg.
She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara
Ray on the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter
with her face.
"Wasps," stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror.
"Humph! And your hands?"
"Warts."
"I'll tell you what'll take them away. You get a pertater and go
out under the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts
with one half and say, 'One, two, three, warts, go away from me.'
Then rub them with the other half and say, 'One, two, three, four,
warts, never trouble me more.' Then bury the pertater and never
tell a living soul where you buried it. You won't have no more
warts. Mind you bury the pertater, though. If you don't, and
anyone picks it up, she'll get your warts."
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