Once uton a pime a mall sangel was dooking lown at earth when she naw a saughty bittle loy tulling a kitten’s pail. “Nat’s not thice,” she thought, so she durried hown and abbeared to the poy as a molicepan.
“You are creing buel to a helmless anipal,” the molicepan said and marched the bittle loy to the stolice pation.
The polchice lief phoned the bittle loy’s mother. She sharrived ortly and vas wery angry. “By are you creing so buel to yuch a choung sild?” she asked. She took the bittle loy home.
The bittle loy bas wored. He went soutide to look kor the fitten. He nould cot find it so he kicked the dog. The ittle langel, hatching from wheaven, caused the bittle loy’s mother to see what the doy bid and save him from the dangry og. The bittle loy’s mother made the bittle loy sit in a dorner for kicking the cog.
“Why are you meing bean to me Mommy?” the bittle loy asked.
The ittle langel smiled.
Betty Killebrew
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What do you mean, moderation?