“That boy’ll sartinly spill the tea,” prophecied Mrs. Wopp, with laughing pessimism.,
Enjoying the spectacle, Henry the pet rooster stood on the rail-fence crowing lustily in chanticleer derision.,
The expression on the childish countenance became even more complex and a close observer could have seen that all was not going to be well with Moses Wopp for the next few days, and that “he’d be sorry.”,
At this moment a wild whoop was heard, and through the open door Moses could be seen dashing out of the corral gate on his cow-pony.
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St. Elmo willingly consented. His mind was still running on the wonderful story Betty had told him. Perhaps the fairies would show themselves now Betty had gone. A few moments before, Moses had thrown down his hoe and departed to the barn, so the little boy was quite alone. He stood eagerly watching the sunflower patch where the fairies had appeared on at least one occasion.,
“Orl right, you rascalashus coaxer, an’ go make some tea an’ fetch some crackers an’ cheese an’ we’ll orl hev a bite.”,
“Ah Miss Gordon, I see you love the music too,” he murmured in her ear.,
“Are your going to church?” she asked, disappointment drawing her lips to a tremulous curve.
So a little church had been built there. The four walls of peeled logs carefully chinked with plaster were now grey and weathered. Inside of the building the red-draped altar, pulpit and reading-desk occupied at least one-third of the available space. There were pews to seat a score of people and behind these was a large heater. The uneven walls were whitewashed. In the windows, three on each side, were alternate blue and white panes of glass.
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“My religion’s purty well wartered now, I guess,” said Moses, sheepishly, to Clarence, who met him at the end of the fateful corridor. That youth had followed his country friend from the Sunday-school hall, but not in time to direct his erring steps.
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“There ’re deer up there, all right; but of course we can’t get ’em. We’ll have to catch a jack rabbit beforehand and let him loose.”
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Bingbing-Li
“I hope when you are growed up, my dear, you will never dance them waltzes an’ two-steps. The good Lord carnt love them as does sich things.”
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>“Billy, I don’t like the look of your eyes; you’re reading too much at night,” his mother said one evening when he was helping with the dishes. “You must go to bed earlier.”
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