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The strains of “Red Wing” having died away, Mrs. Wopp busied herself setting up the crokinole board. “Me and Par won’t play, jist the young folks,” she announced. It was a fine summer evening. The whole Wopp family was getting ready to go to a dance, to be held at a ranch some ten miles off. An array of clean clothing was laid out on the different beds and an odor of musk-scented soap pervaded the air. “It’s my doin’s, Mar,” said Betty, “I made it orl up outer my head.”.

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“Come on Betty, you haven’t had a dance this evening. It isn’t fair for the grownups to have all the fun,” invited Howard Eliot. “Where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? “What’s the matter, Billy? Why don’t you go and play? You surely deserve a fine holiday, my big, big son.” She put her arm around him tenderly; and he saw that she remembered. He would be thirteen to-morrow. He had been counting the days; but he thought mother and sister had been too busy to think of it. It was coming—to-morrow, Sunday! If he didn’t have a good time to-day it wouldn’t be any birthday at all. “He ran up and touched noses with Tom like a Feegee Islander,—are they the people that touch noses for ‘How do you do?’”.