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Late that night when Billy’s mother followed him to the Fo’castle, he asked, “Are you pleased with it, little mother?” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sound of an approaching team was heard. Betty eyed ruefully the silk shawl she had flung on the ground. “Right this way, ladies and gentlemen,” Bess called from the edge of the far terrace. “A dinner fit for the gods, ambrosia and nectar; gifts from Flora and Fornax! Come up to the garden of the gods and goddesses and feast together!”.
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Bess, though not quite twelve, was a striking girl, larger than most women; with a mind as unusual as her body. Poetry, music, mythology, she fed upon these as a plant upon the sunshine. She was not satisfied with ordinary speech, but continually wove into the most commonplace events the glamour of romance and poetic words. A wise mother had stood between her and the jeers of the thoughtless, that she might have a normal girlhood; and Billy’s mother and sister helped to make it possible for her to play comfortably with those of her own age. Yet it was a surprise to the stranger to see this dark-eyed, magnificent woman-creature in short skirts romping with children. “Shore nuff, what relationship do you s’pose they are all to each other now?” Jean was the Goddess of Liberty; Shifty and another larger boy the steeds that pulled her car. But boys and box wagon were so smothered in bunting that only the Goddess was conspicuous, standing, well-balanced, stately, and fair. The green-eyed monster, always seeking prey, had at last found a victim, and proceeded in true green-eyed fashion to wage ruthless warfare..
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