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The man gave him an affectionate slap. “Go, then. You’re a right game kid, sure.”,
“I b’lieve I’ll go an’ git the warterin’ can,” announced Betty. “These pansies is orful dry, an’ even ef the sun is shinin’ on them, some warter round the roots wont hurt. You stay here, St. Elmo, an’ I’ll be back in a minute.”,
The Prettymans’ white cow was ingeniously shaped and caparisoned to represent “India’s Sacred White Elephant”; and Jackson was the Hindoo leader. This exhibit caused much controversy. The attendant should ride on the neck of the elephant, all agreed to that; but the cow objected; so they compromised by having Jackson walk. The matter of costume for Jackson was not so easily settled, as the differing pictures of sacred elephants presented a variation in the attendants’ garb. May Nell,—who was to be the “Fair Princess of Bombay,”—as soon as she could get a hearing, ended the dispute amicably by suggesting that Jackson be allowed his choice in the matter of dress, an alternative that permitted each disputant to withdraw from the argument with honor.,
Uplifted by limburger, Mr. Wopp grew emboldened, “Jist a mouthful of somethink don’t hurt nobody, an’ I’ll be asleep afore you kin say Jack Robinson, an’ ef I talk as loud as you snore, we’re even I reckon.”
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They all went off, a merry, noisy troop. And the disappearing sun was the last to say to Billy “Good-night.”,
He tried to hold it from falling, but could not. It seemed as if his arms would be pulled out of their sockets. It would fall short—he must hold on to it, not let it strike below, for the noise would betray them too soon; and—the men in the wagon were passing!,
As the door into the dining-room opened to the little guests, St. Elmo Mifsud’s eyes almost darted out of his head, for there on the centre of a bountifully-spread table stood an enormous chocolate cake with eleven candles burning on it. The revelation supplied a fitting climax for the epochal event of a thrilling picture show.,
Mrs. Wopp leaning towards a lady on her right inquired, “Do you know Mis’ Stephens, why Joe Avery is not dancin’ this evenin’. Ever sence we come into this here barn he has never moved from his seat.”
The Bennetts’ was one of the oldest places in town, and the most beautiful. It was near the heart of the growing village ambitiously calling itself a city. Level lawns protected by high hedges and shaded by many trees, spread amply around the house and back to the first terrace, where a tangle of berry vines covered trellises that shut off a lower level devoted to vegetables. Beyond this was the chickens’ domain, rock-dotted acres that sloped sharply to where Runa Creek boiled over its stony bed. Here mother hens fluttered and scolded while web-footed broods paddled in the edges of the stream.
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“Are you hungry, Isobel?” questioned her mother.
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“And just worships you. Is your lawn mowed?”
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Mrs. Bennett heard anxiety in the voices of the visitors, and came out.
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>Mrs. Snoop had been furious at this calumniation of her lamented husband. But, after learning that the sailor had depicted Mr. Snoop very accurately as to appearance and disposition, she had begun to doubt. “When she heard how Mr. Snoop let those heathen girls run after him an’ wait on him, Mrs. Mifsud,” recounted Mrs. Bliggins, “even lightin’ his pipe for him an’ puttin’ his hat on his head, she began to see things clear, an’ mark my words, she quit mournin’. She couldn’t do anything to Augustus, of course, but she sold her crape clothes and got some new bright ones, mostly red an’ yellow, just to show people how she felt. She made kindlin’ of the crayon picture of Augustus she had bought from a travellin’ agent. She said it was a cryin’ shame that Augustus Snoop, who had been brought up on two catechisms, the Mother’s an’ Shorter, afterwards joinin’ the Holy Rollers, should have taken up with those south sea trollops.”
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