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As he reached for his cap a door opposite the one through which he had passed opened, and the grey head of the sexton appeared. “Say, little kid, what’s your name?” he asked, merrily, as he routed a great white cat from his own chair and placed it before the fire for the child. “First you must eat, and rest, so that you can tell us about your mother; then we’ll see what can be done.” Mrs. Bennett took the child into the pleasant living-room where Billy had put a fourth place at the table next his own..

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In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.” Jimmy was taken by surprise. Billy was his favorite play-mate, and the whip had disappeared before he realized the import of the attack, and he thus lost any advantage he might have gained while Billy’s hands were busy. But the words roused Jimmy’s anger. No boy had a right to interfere between him and his sisters; and he struggled to his feet and launched some telling blows. From the kitchen came an unmistakeable odor of cheese. Ebenezer Wopp was having a slight snack before retiring. With the back of his nervous hand he was wiping from the corners of his mouth the telltale crumbs. “I don’t give two whoops ef he does,” Betty was bubbling with suppressed mirth..