“You know that bad, old, half-tailed Tom that whips every cat in town but Geewhillikins and Flash and Sir Thomas—”,
“Billy, let me plan,” May Nell interposed. “We’ll work hard to fix up the Lodge before Jean has to go home. I’ll stay and wait for you, and Bouncer with me; and I’ll search for my Idean vine. I must have something that will do for that. I wish I could find a real one.”,
When Moses reached the barn he found Mr. Wopp just drawing up his team of heavy-work horses beside a small corral where the hay was to be deposited. On the load beside Mr. Wopp. Moses’ wondering eyes beheld Jethro—Jethro whose greatest joy was to run beside any vehicle and range the country as far as he could on both sides of the trail.
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“They’ve stolen her, all right. I don’t know why, but I know who,—it’s the Ha’nt people!” Billy panted, coming out of the Lodge.,
Nell’s answer was somehow strangely muffled.,
Going home from school one Friday afternoon, Moses heard sniggering half-suppressed comments behind him. He walked along slowly, contemplating his big toe that protruded pathetically from a large hole in his shoe. It reached his ears that one aesthetic youth was dazzled by the kaleidoscopic effect of his checked trousers; in other words, it made him sea-sick. Moses quickened his pace slightly, but his face looked like an advance notice of calamity. Presently he turned and glowered at his tormenters.,
“Golly! They’re working all night. I—ought to—help—to-morrow. I—” He slept again with his good resolution half made.
“How in the name of orl the aporstles did that hen git in there?” questioned Mrs. Wopp.
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Jethro, lying on a mat at the door, was contentedly gnawing a bone. Nancy, having finished her milk, and still enjoying its flavor from her whiskers, as Betty remarked, stealthily approached her canine playmate. A slight altercation took place concerning the ownership of the bone. It was not long before Jethro walked out of the room, perceptibly toeing in, and probably reflecting that life was too short to wrangle over a bare bone anyway.
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“There ain’t a shadder of a doubt Moses takes arter his Par in the gift of the gab,” was Mrs. Wopp’s genial rejoinder.
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>Mrs. Wopp’s voice, a dramatic outburst before which almost any cloud would have quailed, filled the bedroom. Betty turned to Nell Gordon, “I hope all yer clouds’ll hev silver linin’s, Miss Gordon,” she smiled.
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