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In spite of her smile there was a tinge of gravity in her silent moment of consideration. “Very well, Billy. You know how short Saturday is, and that to-morrow you’ll wish you’d cut the grass to-day. Yet I leave it to you; do as you like.” “Don’t sit there wool-gatherin’ anyways, Mose, or the moths’ll nest in yer head. Ef you carn’t sing in toon, you kin bring up a cup of tea fer Miss Gordon an’ Mr. Eliot, an’ don’t fergit Betty an’ yer Mar.” “Come here Betty, till I clean yer face. Where is that boy Moses? I know he had a hand in this. Drat him anyhow,” said the incensed Mrs. Wopp..
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“This here flower aint a mornin’-glory, but the leaves is mighty like it, an’ the flowers is jist as purty.” Moses explained. “At my brother’s Mrs. Wopp. He had just acquired it, so of course little proficiency was yet attained.” “I did hunt the aigs,” lied the unhappy Moses who was afraid he was going to miss something. But not that night nor for days after did Billy look at his books. The second morning the fever was still present, and he told his mother he was “all over red goose flesh.”.
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