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“Wisht that orful pitcher ’d fall inter the swill-pail an’ then turn a somerset in the soot-pile,” murmured the boy as he noticed the care exercised over its safety. “Jiminy crickets! What’s happened, kid?” Billy asked, slowing up beside him. All his treasures, pictures, marbles, mineral specimens, what not, were displayed and explained. And finally came the books, when Billy discovered that she knew most of his favorites, loved them as he did, and could introduce him to new ones that promised delight..
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“Oh, Miss Gordon, here’s my name,” announced Betty, excitedly, pointing to a central part of the quilt. “An’ here’s yours right clost to it.” Not unwillingly the boy relinquished his task. Weeding after all is thankless work. The weeds will persist in growing in spite of every discouragement. “Aw Mosey,” cried Betty, “give it to him in two pieces an’ make him twict as happy.” Every back bent a little lower. Every face flushed a little rosier under its coat of grime. Praise from Billy was all they asked..
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