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“Yes; but I’m afraid my papa’s dead, he’s been gone so long.” How she hated that word “kid.” “Now, Mosey, you like the new teacher’s well’s I do, else why were you showin’ off before her, ridin’ Ladybird like mad.” “Maria, where is St. Elmo?” asked Mrs. Mifsud, as with flushed face she basted some fowls in the oven..

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“Doubtless it is incorporated in the language of some foreign people,” conceded Mrs. Mifsud, languidly. Everything was going smoothly when suddenly a catastrophe stopped short the circus, and left Moses greatly distressed. He inwardly complained that never yet was he “havin’ a good time but some orful thing happened to put a cloud over the sun.” The hens and chickens that had been pressed into the ranks of the circus performers were crowding round a swill-bucket which Moses had left tilted at a precarious angle on an upturned soap-box. In its zig-zag gyrations round the yard, the ostrich, to avoid the ubiquitous fowl, ran against the bucket and the odoriferous contents were splashed over the yellow-draped circus lady. The contents of the swill-pail trickled down Betty’s finery and dropped sadly from the pink headgear of the ostrich. “Did you hev a good time in the city larst week, Mis’ Mifsud?” asked Mrs. Wopp, politely. “Don’t stan’ starin’ there like Betty’s chiner doll, go git another of my pies.”.