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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. A hand shot up at this point in the lesson and a thin voice piped, “Please, Mis’ Wopp, I was to the Fair last year.” Betty, not interested in intricate relationships, tiptoed into the parlor and uncovering the organ, played with one finger “Home Sweet Home.” The wool-embroidered motto on the wall almost wept..

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“They shan’t ever again call me Billy To-morrow. It’s Billy To-day, Bouncer. It shall always be Billy To-day!” Betty, orphaned at the age of six, had been adopted by the kind-hearted Mrs. Wopp. The child found her chief joy in life, outside of Jethro, Nancy and Job, in a flower-bed. A small plot of ground had been allotted her for her own use, and there every spring for the last four years her precious flowers had bloomed and had filled her eyes with brightness and her soul with gladness. Morning-glories and nasturtiums were the surest to bloom. They climbed the strings so gracefully and turned the old weather-beaten fence where they grew into a tapestry of gorgeous dyes. “Here, Mose, hoi’ this here jint while I fit the next one inter it.” A tongue-twisting silence ensued. Billy slipped quickly to cover again where he could watch unseen. The men’s faces were black with passion, and their low, intense words seemed all the more deadly because strange, foreign. A coat split down the back with a ripping report, and the boy saw the flash of a knife, and turned away feeling sick..