“Wharfmaster, ahoy!” Billy hailed, as they came near the water’s edge. “Is all ship-shape?”,
“Giving music lessons isn’t work. I’d love to do that.”,
“You romp!” came the disgusted voice once more. “You’d better cut your hair, and your skirts, and be a child again.”,
Betty, not interested in intricate relationships, tiptoed into the parlor and uncovering the organ, played with one finger “Home Sweet Home.” The wool-embroidered motto on the wall almost wept.
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“Not till evening; but there’s the lawn.”,
“Yes, I seen them an’ smelt them, too; they shore ’d delight the heart of an Eskermo, Betty.”,
“Yes; he’d lick him too, if Flash wasn’t Tom’s body-guard.”,
“O Billy, he’s so beautiful and so clever; and he put his nose up to Flash so gratefully. Flash just mewed again, low as before, and walked off round the house. And Tom went and ate his breakfast.”
Outside of the flower garden proper and between it and the vegetables, were several rows of gay sunflowers. Mr. Wopp approved of these mightily, because the seeds were “sich grand feed for the chickings.” Betty looked on these gaudy sentinels with sorrowing pity, because they had not the daintiness of the other flowers.
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Mrs. Wopp drew the green curtains together and turned to the smallest girl in the class.
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The pianist took a long look at Nell who had been visibly affected by his playing. Misgivings that date back to Eden were leaping into life in his breast. He had been in love more times than he could count, but here was the girl after all. He began a Scherzo of his own composition. Youth gathering flowers at the open mouth of a volcano. The melody was born to live forever. He was a genius. Now Nell knew it and her soul worshipped genius. Howard Eliot was far from her thoughts as she listened to the enchanting chain of melodies that poured forth.
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“Two coyotes most hed him,” he explained. “Jist near the big slough, the spunky little critter started chasin’ them. Then they turned on him an’ he done some fine sprintin’. I tried to turn the team to go an’ meet him, but the hosses acted up, an’ as soon as I got them quieter the dog was atween them an’ the coyotes slinkin’ away. It were a close shave fer him.”
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>Betty said her prayers that night before her cyclamen. It seemed to her a “mornin’-glory that had been growed by an angel, its petals sparkled so, an’ it smelled so pure.” She breathed very softly her thanksgiving, with a vague feeling that it had wings and could find its way better than she knew.
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