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An enlarged crayon portrait in a wide gilt frame of Moses as a baby in a state of round cherubic innocent nudity, had been added recently to the mural decorations and was especially well covered with cloths. “How in the world did you ever sleep through it, Billy?” his mother asked, coming in from the tank-room where she had been to investigate. “There is a small flood there. I should think the first drop would have wakened you.” As that energetic lady bustled about the kitchen the same evening setting the bread, her voice rose in a series of trills and other embellishments as she sang “Where is my wanderin’ boy to-night?”.

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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.” “Say, little kid, what’s your name?” he asked, merrily, as he routed a great white cat from his own chair and placed it before the fire for the child. He did laugh, yet was sober again. She was tucking the clothes close about him, preparing to lie down by his side. But he reached his arms out suddenly and flung them around her neck. “O mamma, the awfullest thing in the world next to doing a crime, must be not to have a mother. I must jolly May Nell more. And, mamma—mother, I don’t know why,—” his voice was very low and shy, “why God’s looked out for me so good; but anyway, you’re—you’re the whole bunch!” “Right—now—are you?” The arm that was around Bouncer tightened, and she thought her “heart would fly right up into her throat.”.