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Betty, orphaned at the age of six, had been adopted by the kind-hearted Mrs. Wopp. The child found her chief joy in life, outside of Jethro, Nancy and Job, in a flower-bed. A small plot of ground had been allotted her for her own use, and there every spring for the last four years her precious flowers had bloomed and had filled her eyes with brightness and her soul with gladness. Morning-glories and nasturtiums were the surest to bloom. They climbed the strings so gracefully and turned the old weather-beaten fence where they grew into a tapestry of gorgeous dyes. Thoroughly enjoying her task, Betty flitted from flower to flower until she had gathered an armful of the lovely blossoms. Then visiting the vegetable beds she appropriated a few feathery sprays of asparagus. Returning to the house, she made up her bouquets. One, a great mass of yellow, lightly flecked with green, she set on a small table which stood in the darkest corner of the dining-room, then stood back to view the effect. He laughed coarsely. “George Smith’s kid, all right. You’ve got the same high way with you.”.

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One bullying boy, to punctuate his last taunt to Moses before turning into another road, picked up a stone and hurled it at his dejected victim. The stone glanced and struck Jethro who was bounding along the road to meet his mistress. A piteous yelp followed by a loud howl, and Betty was on her knees beside the wounded animal. She turned and shouted fiery imprecations after the fleeing boys. “He’s been pushin’ up the daisies fer thirty years, I ain’t goin’ to warble to please no tombstun.” Moses swung a ponderous foot to give emphasis to his decision. It seemed to him that his voice made no sound; that May Nell never ran so slowly; that the travellers would surely not hear him, not stop. How could they hear in all the noise? “Now, Mose, fer the elbow. Stiddy! Don’t shove! Don’t pull! Hole her stiddy!”.