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“Can I hev a piece of jelly-roll, Mar?” coaxed Betty, stemming the tide of her brother’s complaints. “Never mind, Mosey, we’ll tell Miss Gordon. She’ll give them sulphur an’ brimstone to-morrer.” The strains of “Red Wing” having died away, Mrs. Wopp busied herself setting up the crokinole board. “Me and Par won’t play, jist the young folks,” she announced..

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St. Elmo clapped his tiny hands and asked for “Moah,” while Norah Bliggins, who had been almost petrified when she heard the voice of Mrs. Wopp, sat hoping no one would ask her for the golden text. She was devoutly thankful that she could get up from her cramped position. A wide lath in the upturned box which served as her seat had broken and she had sunk deeper and deeper until her chubby chin and knees were in close proximity. It required the united efforts of Maria and Betty to extricate the unfortunate child. The doll was safe, however, and with fortitude worthy of emulation still smiled although sawdust again trickled from her re-opened wound. Henry started up a lusty crowing and Moses began to whistle while Betty uncovered the windows and made other preparations for leaving the loft. Several of her pictures had been spoiled by the rain and the box reduced to a soft pulpy mass. “Giving music lessons isn’t work. I’d love to do that.” All was now ready for firing. “She” was to be run by oil. They took her out through the double doors, both swung wide for the first time in many weeks. It was all the boys could do to carry the heavy thing, though they went quite steadily across the vegetable garden, not without some damage to spring lettuce and summer corn, however; but on the steep, uneven slope below, the Fair Ellen came almost to grief. “What’s the trouble, dear? What were you afraid of?” she enquired, as she raised him to his feet..