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It had stopped raining, but was still cloudy. This was the hour when Billy usually wheeled long miles by himself, dreaming dreams no one but a boy knows how to dream. Nothing short of a downpour ever hindered him; thus mother and sister knew it was genuine self-sacrifice that kept him beside the little girl through the long afternoon.,

The broad shaft of sunlight that flooded the dining-room where Nell Gordon sat was suddenly darkened. Looking up she saw the tall straight figure of Howard Eliot at the doorway.,

The cheerful clatter of knives and forks against Mrs. Wopp’s best blue willow plates was a gentle accompaniment to the ripple of laughing apology that Nell offered to the victim. Any constraint that might have been felt hitherto among the circle, decreased perceptibly as the rancher wiped the sweet syrupy drops from his face.,

He went home after the engagement, walking on air and talking aloud to himself. “Gee! I don’t suppose there’s a squinch-eyed ghost of a chance for me to win that prize money; but twenty-five a month’ll pay mamma for what I eat,—and break, I guess.”

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“Break it,—not now; when I tell you.”,

“Orl right, Mar,” answered Moses, dutifully, his mouth watering in anticipation of the goodies in prospect.,

The pianist sat easily at the piano and began the Moskowski selection that had failed to create the expected furore in the afternoon. A cadenza that shivered down the spine like spray from a glacial torrent wakened the room. Then he plunged into the first theme. His small audience listened spell-bound. Betty’s eyes followed the fingers that leaped over the ivory keys like white flame. A subtle current began to play in the room. Steadily it grew in power. Magnetism to the nth degree was being generated. A tremendous chord brought the music to a close and the pianist to his feet. Something in Nell’s glance inspired him. He whirled about the room whistling and imitating some of the cadenzas and other passages from the selection just played. He gesticulated wildly with his hands, the passion for dramatic music oozing from his pores.,

“Wisht I had two bits.”