"Help!" As though snipped off short by one of its own whirling blades, the lawn mower in the next yard stilled abruptly. Almost on the echo, a mop of red hair popped above the garden fence. From her perch on the turning-pole, which jutted out of the big butternut tree in the Sefton back lawn, Molly Sefton watched the brick-red thatch and the serious face beneath it. She wondered whether the boy were fifteen years old or sixteen, and whether these new neighbors who had moved in only the day before would prove as "nice" as ...
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"Help!" As though snipped off short by one of its own whirling blades, the lawn mower in the next yard stilled abruptly. Almost on the echo, a mop of red hair popped above the garden fence. From her perch on the turning-pole, which jutted out of the big butternut tree in the Sefton back lawn, Molly Sefton watched the brick-red thatch and the serious face beneath it. She wondered whether the boy were fifteen years old or sixteen, and whether these new neighbors who had moved in only the day before would prove as "nice" as she had found the rest of the little village of Lakeville. Then a sharp twist of pain made her forget everything except her right foot. "Please help me loose," she called. "I was climbing up to get my kitten, and my foot slipped in here. Now I can't get it out." By this time, the red-headed boy had drawn himself to the top of the fence. Almost before she had finished explaining, he had dropped on the other side. Scrambling up to the horizontal bar beside her, he squinted thoughtfully at the imprisoned foot, wedged between the tree-trunk and the wooden strip that held the end of the bar.
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