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“Sing something, Mar.” Betty’s plaintive voice broke the silence. “I wonder who’ll buy this here quilt,” speculated Mrs. Wopp, as she bent over her task, “there’s shorely a great sight o’ work on it. As fer me, I aint got time to do much fancy work an’ I’d never git round to a job like this fer myself.” “Billy! You said you weren’t hurt, but you are!” Alarmed, she rose and switched on the light, pulled off the bandage, and turned faint at the wreck of the bright, clean boy who had left her that afternoon. “My boy! You’re dreadfully hurt! I must send for Doctor Carter, and—”.
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From where he stood Billy could see the distress in her face. He must think of a way to get her, and he must, must hurry! St. Elmo’s face brightened with intelligence. He broke into the story to give a graphic account of how a little yellow chicken of his sister’s had got “dwownded” in the pig-trough. “Where you’ll be safe till I let your father know I’ve got you.” “I can walk,” she said, struggling to be put down..
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