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“No, we won’t!” came a dozen voices. Betty, orphaned at the age of six, had been adopted by the kind-hearted Mrs. Wopp. The child found her chief joy in life, outside of Jethro, Nancy and Job, in a flower-bed. A small plot of ground had been allotted her for her own use, and there every spring for the last four years her precious flowers had bloomed and had filled her eyes with brightness and her soul with gladness. Morning-glories and nasturtiums were the surest to bloom. They climbed the strings so gracefully and turned the old weather-beaten fence where they grew into a tapestry of gorgeous dyes. “Billy! I’ll tell you what let’s do; we’ll make a circus ourselves!”.
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Betty was trying to keep up the engaging flow of talk but the dance proved to require all her attention. “Yes; he’d lick him too, if Flash wasn’t Tom’s body-guard.” “Then he walked back as slowly and dignifiedly as a minister,—isn’t ‘dignifiedly’ an awkward word? I wonder if it is right?” Moses, who was still in the dark as to the exact character of the entertainment planned, was all eagerness to get preliminaries over..
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