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“What has happened to you, Billy?” his mother questioned sharply as she turned at his voice and saw his damaged head. “You’re hurt, Billy!” He did laugh, yet was sober again. She was tucking the clothes close about him, preparing to lie down by his side. But he reached his arms out suddenly and flung them around her neck. “O mamma, the awfullest thing in the world next to doing a crime, must be not to have a mother. I must jolly May Nell more. And, mamma—mother, I don’t know why,—” his voice was very low and shy, “why God’s looked out for me so good; but anyway, you’re—you’re the whole bunch!” St. Elmo Mifsud, his angelic face framed in silky curls, now became the prey to the machinations of Pete Solway, who had eluded the vigilant eye of Mrs. Wopp during her dramatic recital. A roar of pain escaped the child as a sharp tweak was applied to his curls. Recalled to matters entirely mundane, the teacher administered severe reproof..
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“You needn’t fight any more,” Vilette said, loftily; “we shall marry her ourselves.” Jean’s face fell, and she didn’t look at Billy when she spoke. “My mother says I mustn’t wrestle any more.” Watchful Mrs. Bennett was not far away. She stopped the boy’s noise, and cuddled the bereft one once more. “What is it, child? You are to be brave, you know.” “My conscience! How lovely and stylish you look!” The child, accustomed to elegant dress, praised with discriminating eyes..
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