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Nell looked toward the morning-glory garden and there she saw Betty kneeling in the moonlight. Jethro was sitting up on his hind legs beside the little figure, holding his paws before him. The moonlight fell on his penitential white body, on the stiff braids of the sorrowful and contrite Betty, and lighted up the bright yellow nasturtiums that filled the air with their pungent odor. The morning-glory leaves gleamed in the pure white light. “Wisht that orful pitcher ’d fall inter the swill-pail an’ then turn a somerset in the soot-pile,” murmured the boy as he noticed the care exercised over its safety. At this juncture there was a knock at the door. It was Howard Eliot who had called for Nell..
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“That big sand pile the kids made last week for a fort can be the Sierras, and we’ll tunnel, and have a loop, and—” “That man Zalhambone’s playin’ rasped all up an’ down my spine,” she criticized. Then harking back to thrills she really had felt despite her prejudice, she admitted grudgingly, “My, but his han’s did fly over them keys permiscuous-like.” “O Billy, the poor rabbit will surely be caught; and you know the stag hid in ‘Trosach’s wildest nook.’” The resourceful Betty was not to be undone by this embarrassing accident. She used the silk shawl to groom the ostrich and to mop the disfiguring stains from Moses’ face. The helmet was discarded and the aigret of red hair rose instantly undaunted, waving a lively accompaniment to the boy’s continued exertions to follow the pace set by Betty’s imagination..
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