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“Golly! Wish’t I had time to stay an’ watch. But I won’t, Betsey; I’ll go right now.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sound of an approaching team was heard. Betty eyed ruefully the silk shawl she had flung on the ground. How the missionary box would jingle! How the heathen would sing for joy! While on the Wopp table carrot pudding could become a diurnal felicity!.

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“Whose Jethro?” “And you’re my Ladybird sister,” Billy said, very softly for him, and threw his arm about them both. A dull yellow glow from the kerosene lamp, placed by Moses on the bureau, lighted up the figure of Betty reclining on snowy pillows. On one side of her was seated Howard, his arm about the drowsy child. On the side of the bed, squarely seated on one of Mrs. Wopp’s texts worked into the patchwork quilt, was Nell, watching the little pallid face and trying to avoid the eyes of her silent lover. “My father didn’t let my mother work when he was alive; but he—he died.” Billy bent lower over his weeding, and both were quiet..