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CHAPTER XVII.—A SAMPLE OF EBENEZER WOPP’S IRE. Edith had quickly put her plan in execution, aided by the willing newspapers; but so far nothing had come of it, and mother and daughter feared their charge had lost more than aunt and cousin. South America, a very definite spot in the child’s mind, was still too vague a postoffice address for even Uncle Sam’s marvellous mail-carrying; and so, while encouraging May Nell, the two women tacitly adopted her into their hearts and discussed her future as if she were their own. Here Mrs. Wopp related for the hundredth time the account of the ketchup disaster..
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“Please, Mith Wopp, the latht windthorm upthet our hen-houth.” As Mrs. Wopp adjusted her bonnet before leaving the house, she gave minute instructions to Mr. Wopp. Edith finished her music lesson, dismissed her pupil, and made the little girl tidy if comical, in one of her own frocks. And when the four sat to eat, Billy’s voice rang above the rest in the little song they sang in lieu of grace. “Betty’s not goin’ to no kingdom come yet,” assured Mrs. Wopp, her optimism rising like a star of the first magnitude to lighten the darkness of her son’s midnight sky..
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