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Mrs. Bennett crossed the room and laid a tender hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re not strong and need perfect rest. Besides, you spoil the boy. It won’t hurt him to sleep there, and he must take the consequences of his own act.” Howard sat back in his chair and thought of the possibilities of seeing Nell. He reflected that they were as good as engaged. Mrs. Wopp had given her diagnosis of the case enigmatically, perhaps, but with a degree of accuracy denoting keen observation on the evening of his last visit at the Wopp household. For fully a fraction of a minute Nell had let him hold her hand, and then her face all dimpling had turned to say good-night. He was rehearsing what he should say next time she dimpled so irresistibly and he breathed anathemas on his asinine conduct in being so shy and tardy. He was brought to the immediate present by Moses who was regarding an ice-cream soda with suspicion. “Is theh faywies wound heah, Betty? Can they see us?” inquired the little boy in awe-struck tones..

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Jean hid a queer little smile that she could not repress. Moses returned to work with jelly and soot mingling in a purple streak on cheek and chin. “Feel that muscle,” he said a moment later; bending his arm, and pressing her fingers to it. “That’s got to grow by a broom or hoe, something besides football!” He winced with pain, reeled, and would have fallen but for the other’s sustaining hand..