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“Billy, I don’t think you could possibly have been happier on your birthday than I was; yet I was so tired that night that I could not sleep. The work of that day was play to me.” “Gosh! My throat feels like I’d been garglin’ with a bumble bee,” he exclaimed. Greatly refreshed, he did full justice to the difficult roles of combined driver and audience. Jethro, delighted with the new game, tore madly round the yard, barking shrilly and demanding more speed. But Job, running sadly corner-wise, was destined from the start for a losing race. Betty, not interested in intricate relationships, tiptoed into the parlor and uncovering the organ, played with one finger “Home Sweet Home.” The wool-embroidered motto on the wall almost wept..

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“The fairies might git cross,” countered Betty. “I was ten in January, the twelfth,” May Nell replied, with no pride in her tone; she was always older than those of her size. Yet she was not prepared for the gasps and backward movement of the twins. “Why, you see,” Billy hesitated, for he was modest, “sister has a class of us heathen boys, and—well, you see, it’s this way; sister says,—she’s partial, you know,—she says I have influence; if I don’t giggle the others won’t, and she gets on O. K.” “Biff on the eye!” she cried..