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The sun shone brightly and the atmosphere had that brilliant clarity, peculiar to the prairie. Several chattering magpies strutted on the grassplot between the house and the barn. Betty ran around to the further side of the house where lay the garden. Here Moses and his mother were already hard at work. “My eye!” exclaimed Clarence, mockingly shading his eyes from his sister’s radiance, “She’s got her joy-bells on, what’s the stunt?” “Bully fer you, ’s Gordon,” shouted the excited Moses leaping furiously. “Keep her goin’. Ole Dan Tucker jist fits that toon.”.
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Conrad
Billy suspected his mother was waiting for him; he must hurry, he thought. Yet he couldn’t resist showing off a bit. He bent over his wheel, went by the girls with a rush and a “Hello!” made a neat turn, wheeled a figure “8” around a team or two, shouted, “Don’t frame up anything there!” as he passed a second time, and whizzed through the arch in his own high hedge with one wheel in the air. “What has happened to you, Billy?” his mother questioned sharply as she turned at his voice and saw his damaged head. “You’re hurt, Billy!” By this time Mr. Wopp was bearing a length of pipe into the yard. The parlor looked like a morgue with its inanimate objects lying bidden under sheets and cloths of varying degrees of past usefulness. Through a hole of one sheet could be seen the listless towzled head of Hannah, her faded wax countenance betraying the need of a tonic. “Arsk a dorg with a tin pail tied to his ear to smile at yer,” returned Moses, sourly..
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