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Mrs. Wopp then proceeded to enlarge on the horrific pilgrimage of Jonah through the vasty interior caverns of the whale. A mile or two down the creek the searching party sought diligently for the little lost boy. Moses was in the lead. He had announced his adamant resolve to find St. Elmo, or perform the irrevocable feat of “bustin’.” He cherished an idea of his own as to the child’s whereabouts. A few weeks previously, on an all-day excursion, Moses had played pirates with St. Elmo and they had utilized a most delectable earthy cave for their game. “Oh Miss Gordon,” cried Betty, her dark brown eyes sparkling with delight, “the flowers can talk to each other across them telfone wires, can’t they?”.
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Mrs. Wopp’s voice, a dramatic outburst before which almost any cloud would have quailed, filled the bedroom. Betty turned to Nell Gordon, “I hope all yer clouds’ll hev silver linin’s, Miss Gordon,” she smiled. CHAPTER VIII ON STORMY SEAS “Yes; but I’m afraid my papa’s dead, he’s been gone so long.” How she hated that word “kid.” “Now, Mose, fer the elbow. Stiddy! Don’t shove! Don’t pull! Hole her stiddy!”.
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