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“Rather like a dear little girl, that so will find her mother,” Mrs. Bennett reassured. “Hold your grouch, Sour,” Harold expostulated. “Only for a day, dear. I’ll be back to-night.”.
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A whoop startled her and she turned to see a handsome boy racing up on a brown pony, also carrying a basket. “Yes. You see, she rents some of the rooms, and she says they must look extra nice on Sunday so the men won’t mosey off to the saloons.” Pat Bliggins approached the receptacle and deposited a prodigiously overgrown, forked, dusty carrot, miraculously endowed with powers of emotion, for several wrinkles beneath its green feathery top betrayed extreme agitation. As the evening wore on Mrs. Wopp, Mrs. Stephens and a few other ladies adjourned to a box stall where the refreshments were stored. Pleased with the prospect of dispensing lavish hospitality from the combined larders of the neighborhood, Mrs. Wopp’s face radiated cheerfulness..
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