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“I always knew that house had something to do with me,” Billy declared to Mr. Smith. “The kids call it a wicked house, but it’s only the people living in it that’s wicked. It’s a splendid old place; and when I’m a man and have money enough, I’m going to buy it and fix it up fine, and give it a fair chance.” After the opening exercises of the Sunday-school session, Mrs. Wopp was pained to notice that some of her scholars did not consider attention to the lesson any part of their duty. However, that strict disciplinarian had a vast store of startling reprimands that set all eyes gazing on her sincere countenance. “No; will you tell me?”.

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“Oh, no; there aren’t any. Billy says so, and he knows. He knows, too, that there are other people here beside the Italians.” Mr. Wopp and Moses, who had hurried to the upper storey to escape the recital of the ketchup episode, now came heavily down the stairs, their task at last finished. She made a quaint picture curled in a big chair under the window, where a lifted corner of the curtain gave light to the book, but left the rest of the room dark. It pleased her to play teacher. She asked Billy numberless questions, coaxed him to explain what she did not understand. And he soon learned that one must know a thing very well before he can tell it. He dictated some of the written work, and she transcribed it in her prim little script. “I must of looked like that Lize or the picter couldn’t of been took.” Ruefully he rubbed his bald crown..