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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. Yet only a part of the long day went to study. They spent delightful hours rehearsing the stories of favorite books, and otherwise amused themselves by improvising tales of marvellous adventure. The school children sent notes, the latest school jokes, and original pictures, interesting if sometimes not quite clear as to meaning. Clarence indited his first letter. Here it is: “Gosh!” he exclaimed, as Isobel closed on the last startlingly unexpected note, “that’s where some feller planks his strawr hat on a beauty butterfly!”.
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Conrad
Betty reflected a moment. “When they got tired dancing they ’journed to the pansy bed. The queen set down on a big purple pansy that was jist like a lovely throne. The other fairies came an’ bowed low in front o’ her, then they gathered up their long silver trains an’ walked backwards. Then the queen rose up an’ walked all round among the flowers an’ the other fairies follered her. They waved their wands over all the flower beds, an’ that’s why they’ve all growed so lovely.” “You bet!” Pretty endorsed, inelegantly. The young dancers in the hall found the change of music decidedly exhilarating, as an occasional whoop testified. “She’s at Vine Hill—miles away; we’ll beat her if we hurry.” His words were a bit breathless..
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