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“I think the linin’ of Miss Gordon’s cloud needs polishin’ these days,” ventured Betty, shyly. A period of silence followed excepting for the slight sounds made by the workers, the drowsy humming of flies, the murmur of an occasional bee and the faint rustlings of the tall stalks of corn. Billy breathed deep. How he loved this opulent valley which was his birthplace and home! He longed to see all the world, yet he thought no other place could be as beautiful..

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It had been Mrs. Wopp’s aim, to have the names for all the members of the household sanctified by biblical authority. She claimed to have had unnumbered admirers in her youth and had singled out her husband for his scriptural appellation. A store of names had been secretly acquired for use in the event of her marriage, but as in the course of years only one boy had come to add freckles and rotundity to the family circle, she was thankful that she had used at least three of the collection on the fortunate youth. Moses Habakuk Ezra Wopp, the exact counterpart of his mother, sat next to his father and eyed the plate of Betty, who was seated beside him, mentally calculating the amount of each succulent morsel she consumed. Since he was twice her size, he was entitled, he thought, to at least twice her share. On his own plate a lonely pickled onion floated in gravy. “Don’t feel so bad, Chick,” he comforted; “it won’t bring them to life, and it hurts you. That’s why you don’t grow faster; your feelings eats up all your blood.” Having thus disposed of Jonah to her own evident satisfaction, and having as she considered, given much valuable instruction, Mrs. Wopp proceeded to question the children. He laughed coarsely. “George Smith’s kid, all right. You’ve got the same high way with you.”.