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“I can’t. Nailed.” Mrs. Mifsud who had listened to this recital with polite interest, now excused herself on the plea of urgent duties in the kitchen. “Mary Ellen Smith; but my mama calls me May Nell; and she says—she says ‘kid’ is vulgar.” The last words were very shy..

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Mrs. Mifsud, however, had seemingly heard not a word of the story. In her distress she forgot that Mrs. Wopp was decidedly plebeian in her conversation and otherwise hopelessly unfashionable; all these discrepancies vanished from her mind, and leaning over on the ample bosom, she wept copiously. Mrs. Wopp patted her in a motherly way. “One touch o’ nater makes the hull world a-kin,” she whispered, “Hearten up, Mis’ Mifsud, Moses ’ll find yer little lamb. That boy seems slow, but all’s not gold that’s a-glitterin’. He’s shorely got a nose fer findin’ things. Our black carf got lost on the prairie one day an’ he found it arter everybody else hed giv’ up huntin’.” Billy knew that the man was going to the spring for water; knew where it was hidden, far in the woods, big and round, deep and clear! It was more than a hundred yards away at least. He waited and listened till the noise of snapping twigs was hushed, then crept down and peered into the hut. The place was so small there was no need of entering; he could see all the interior from the sill. “Mannel Rodd, did you ever ketch a fish?” As many of the hens and chickens as could be persuaded were ushered into the yard to add to the numerical strength of the menagerie..