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“Poor little Billy! You’ve had a hard night of it.” Billy went to the door and looked after them. No one was in sight. Harold, the twins, and May Nell, too, were gone. What could it mean? He looked back at the clock. Nearly ten. Usually the Gang gathered earlier than this, hung around and hurried him with his work, many putting in lusty strokes, that Billy, the favorite, might the sooner be released. But now even Jean, his stanch second in all the fun going, was late. He had expected to be late himself; he always was. But he, who planned most of the sport in spite of doing more work than any of them, had this day expected his schemes to be well launched before he could join in them. For two days the aromas from the kitchen had been such as to dispel the gloom from Moses’ countenance, and hope and anticipation blended on his youthful visage..
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“None of your nonsense,” replied the long-limbed pedestrian, his thankyou’s cut short by Moses’ cheerfulness. “You hitch Jethro to yer ole ’xpress waggon, ’n I’ll hitch Job to a prune-box with spool-wheels,” suggested Betty. “That ole bantam has shore got some speeditood,” reflected Moses, in gasps, as he made several futile plunges for Tillie. “Mosey, ef I darn yer socks fer a month would you let me hev’ two bits?”.
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