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“An’ was the pore little feller lookin’ fer Joner?” said Mrs. Wopp. She spoke pityingly, yet she could not avoid some slight feeling of satisfaction over this evident tribute to her powers of biblical narrative. As that energetic lady bustled about the kitchen the same evening setting the bread, her voice rose in a series of trills and other embellishments as she sang “Where is my wanderin’ boy to-night?” There was room on the slip of paper for only this last item, so numerous had been the demands, during this busy day, on Mr. Wopp’s memory..
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But after a time Jethro grew very tired of playing with a dilapidated shoe, a shiny bone, a grimy dish-mop and other erstwhile interesting things, and he thought it would be delightful to make friends with Nancy and play with her. But Nancy was still unapproachable. When Jethro capered up to her she arched her back and spat at him. Not being a thin-skinned puppy, he refused to consider this rebuff as final. “Did you see the fine bin of carrots, Mar?” inquired Betty. “Try a mile with this can and see where you come out in the race.” So imminent had catastrophe been, that no one thought of the poor small steamer burning unchecked to the water’s edge while the procession climbed the hill; no one knew till days afterward that busy Buzz had entered the open shop and mixed Billy’s cans so that it was gasoline instead of kerosene that he fed that fated craft. But gratitude for Jimmy’s bravery and May Nell’s safety supplanted even in the youngest heart all regret for the boat..
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