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In the meantime Mr. Wopp sitting precariously on the edge of the sofa was examining for at least the two-hundredth time the red plush album which contained the records of the Wopp family, past and present, in picture form. He looked long and earnestly at a tin-type representing a plump, velvet-coated, mop-haired boy of twelve. He sighed deeply. Now a steamboat was on hand. At odd times for weeks, Billy, Harold, and one or two other boys, under secrecy of lock and key, had been slowly bringing to completion a wonderful structure. “O Billy,” his mother laughed, “you need not decide to-night. Besides, it was all Bess’s nonsense. I can’t quite imagine my heedless boy in a pulpit.”.
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“They’ll have to be done before vacation or not at all,” he answered, so seriously that May Nell wondered a little; wondered still more as the moments passed and the dark room grew very quiet. She did not know what purpose was growing in Billy’s mind, a purpose that largely concerned herself. Mrs. Bennett leaned over him without speaking for a minute, but stroked his hair softly. “Remember, with One there is no ‘forever.’ As long as we live we have a chance to retrieve. Rest on that, my child. Now you must sleep.” She kissed him and was silent, for a drop glistened on his cheek she knew he would not wish her to notice. Presently Jimmy and George slipped away and quickly returned bearing a huge freezer, Mrs. Bennett following. Now Billy knew what she had done with the cream. Then scartter seeds of kindness.
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