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Edith worked very hard. She called her operetta “The Triumph of Flora.” The words were her own, written hurriedly and set to familiar though classic airs. Yet many of the daintiest, most tripping melodies she wrote herself. The sorrows of humanity had winged her brain and dipped her pen in harmonies, that she might assuage them. They fired up. An ominous sizz and clatter began. Five pairs of hands shoved the smart boat into the water at May Nell’s feet. The children shouted. The dog barked and the chickens cackled. And above all the din May Nell’s sweet voice rang out, “I christen thee, O wondrous vessel, The Fair Ellen.” She improvised hastily; for no one had thought to prepare a speech for the occasion. “My mama doesn’t believe in public school,” she had announced that first Monday morning; but had gone obediently when Mrs. Bennett decided it best. And the new life, the stimulation of study, the competition in class, her knowledge of books, and the prestige of her story,—these made school a delight, brought a happy light to her eye, a tinge of color to her too fair cheek..
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Yet it was a very quiet little child that crept down to the others a few minutes later; when asked of her fortune she burst into tears. “Pore Joe! Truly the way of the transgressor is hard. I feel bad fer him, to think he has to set round all evenin’ and carnt even git up to git a drink of water fer hisself.” “You romp!” came the disgusted voice once more. “You’d better cut your hair, and your skirts, and be a child again.” “Oh, Mosey, she un’erstan’s everything, she’s jist wonderful.” Betty’s voice was positive..
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