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“That boy’ll sartinly spill the tea,” prophecied Mrs. Wopp, with laughing pessimism. “Not arf as smart as a magpie,” dissented Moses, “I’ve saw magpies that c’d think up the scheminest things.” Moses was beginning to suffer from a surfeit of information and wanted to make a break in the proceedings. The work went on, each length at the first possible opportunity resuming its state of strict neutrality and refusing to be drawn into negotiations..
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Billy heeded no prize-ring rules, no boys’ traditions of fair play. Every savage instinct inherited from far-distant ancestors and sleeping till to-day, rose, conquered the human in him, for the moment made him brutish. And the sobs of the little girls were as whips of fire. “A dose of senner tea’ll fix that, my boy,” was Mrs. Wopp’s cheerful rejoinder. Why, it was going to be fine to work! Why had she not known it before? CHAPTER VII.—THE LITTLE CHURCH IN THE COULEE..
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