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“I suppose you have a large farm, Mr. Wopp,” said Nell Gordon. “Please, Mister, my nose was bleedin’ an’ I lorst my way lookin’ fer warter, an’ here I am on Jording’s stormy banks.” Evelyn relieved of her fear of the tottering kettle, roused to her charge. “Go ’way, Billy! Thank you, Billy. You mustn’t stay here! They’ll scold me. They said for me not to let you come; an’—”.
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Warwick Bro’s & Rutter, Limited, Printers and Bookbinders, Toronto, Canada. To-day she was happy. It had fallen to her to general this great feast that Billy’s mates had planned for the celebration of his birthday. All had contributed. Not only the girls had cooked—Jean had baked a big cake, Jackson had made the candy, and Jimmy and George had sneaked up from the “Front,” and set up the long table in the arbor. “You keep still, Betsey! I’m going to watch!” he exclaimed, as if some one had spoken. Mrs. Wopp was much too energetically engaged to enter into fuller argument. She busied herself preparing the tubs for rinsing, singing in a high tremolo, “Shall we gather at the river?”.
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