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His mood grew more thoughtful. He put the dishes away quietly, and neither spoke again till the work was finished. Then he went and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s good to have you all to myself, little mother; to be just chums once more.” “Yes, long ago. And, mamma, you needn’t ask me that every morning; I’m going to remember. Truly!” he added, as he came toward her, rosy and shining, and saw her doubtful smile. “The vegetables are most weeded, too.” It was too bad! There could be no show in the barn. But the band was still lusty, the trick ponies remained, the boys and girls were eager to talk it over, and—the procession had been a success!.
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Conrad
St. Elmo hung back, electing to stay with the hero who had rescued him from the dangers of the wood. The first act over, a troop of black-faced comedians occupied the stage. “You’re George Rideout Smith’s kid, ain’t you?” “’Cause I love you, ’n’ I hope the edges’ll be all pink like my mornin’-glories.”.
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