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It was Mrs. Wopp’s voice. From her remarks one would gather that the rarest perfumes wafted on the winds invoked by Solomon could never seem so sweet to Woppian nostrils as the mingled odor of hay and freshly dug carrots. “He must have gone to Clarence in the barn,” concluded Maria, setting off at a run. “What’s the matter with Billy To-morrow? He’s thirteen! Three and ten! Most a man! He’s all right!”.
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Before they turned into Main Street, however, the procession was in fair alignment, and the solemnity of the moment hushed all chatter. Billy’s most personal disappointment was Bouncer, who, unhappy because he could not caper in freedom at Billy’s heels, let his lovely, bushy tail, that usually waved above his back in a graceful curve, hang limp and dusty between his legs; while from drooping head and sad eyes, he looked reproachfully at Billy every time the latter ran past. “But I asked for her, mamma.” Billy’s voice lost its exuberance. His mother never had looked so tired, he thought for the second time that day. “Three you should say. Don’t you live in the dreamland of music? Eat your own breakfast, or you’ll be late for the train.” “Are your going to church?” she asked, disappointment drawing her lips to a tremulous curve..
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