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Betty said her prayers that night before her cyclamen. It seemed to her a “mornin’-glory that had been growed by an angel, its petals sparkled so, an’ it smelled so pure.” She breathed very softly her thanksgiving, with a vague feeling that it had wings and could find its way better than she knew. The first act of the unwilling recruit was to bring into the house a coal-scuttle and large shovel, clanking them ominously as he walked. “Now, Clarence, recite William Tell for us.” Mrs. Crump put her hand on her son’s shoulder and turned him away from the bookcase which had been serving as a screen for the boy’s laughing countenance, “You must help Moses enjoy his visit.”.
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“Miss Gordon here, made me a harnsome lace yoke fer an underwaist, an’ give it to me fer my birthday,” volunteered Mrs. Wopp. On the wall hung a gilt-framed portrait, which rumor said represented Ebenezer Wopp, a wreath of carefully made wax flowers, a silver coffin-plate framed and bearing the name and date of demise of Mr. Wopp’s mother, and two or three colored chromos. She clapped him into her own warm bed, and incredibly soon things were sizzling over the alcohol lamp. “I reckon Joner hadn’t any too much light,” opined Mrs. Wopp..
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