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“I did hunt the aigs,” lied the unhappy Moses who was afraid he was going to miss something. “But where does our fun come in? Girls don’t build railroads,” Bess complained. “A dose of senner tea’ll fix that, my boy,” was Mrs. Wopp’s cheerful rejoinder..

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“The darned old robber!” Billy started up and walked restlessly toward the door. THE place Billy called the Fo’castle was a tiny room in the sloping windmill tower. It was level with the second floor of the house, and a narrow, railed bridge connected it with a door in his mother’s room. Under it was the above-ground cellar, overhead the big tank. Still higher whirled the great white wings that pumped the beauty-giving water to lawn and gardens. “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. A mile or two down the creek the searching party sought diligently for the little lost boy. Moses was in the lead. He had announced his adamant resolve to find St. Elmo, or perform the irrevocable feat of “bustin’.” He cherished an idea of his own as to the child’s whereabouts. A few weeks previously, on an all-day excursion, Moses had played pirates with St. Elmo and they had utilized a most delectable earthy cave for their game..