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“Well now Howard Eliot I carnt see nothin’ in that to larf at. It is grand readin’. Do read another,” said Mrs. Wopp. Mrs. Bennett smiled at her mistake and went in, while Billy took up his mower. The girls looked at one another in the mute scrutiny children bestow on newcomers, May Nell the least embarrassed of the three. “Won’t you sing something else, Mrs. Wopp.” Nell was growing uncomfortable under Betty’s reference to the unburnished state of her cloud..

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May Nell had been “through the measles,” yet she shared the quarantine. Billy resented this at first. It was “no fair.” Afterward he was grateful; for aside from the cheer of her presence she did him a fine service. It was her clever brain that proposed to read his lessons aloud to him; and though he didn’t think much of it at first, he soon saw that this would make a chance for the prize which in his heart he had resigned. “Jiminy whiz! This is my very last week of boy; next week I’ll have to be a man,” he said gloomily. Jimmy tried not to look pleased, but failed. Something about May Nell attracted him, whether it was her beauty, her fearlessness, or her air of distinction he did not know. It was really her recognition of something fine in him that his cold and irascible father had almost whipped out of him. He looked at the beaming faces, at the beautiful table with Jean’s great pagoda cake in the centre, the dates, 1893-1906, in evergreen; at the flowers everywhere; at the dishes,—they usually ate from vine leaves at their out-of-door feasts,—at the paper napkins folded fantastically and hovering over the table like gay butterflies. His eloquent face told his surprise, his gratitude, his delight. He opened his mouth to speak some fitting word, but it wouldn’t come. He tried again, for he felt the occasion called for something formally appreciative. But only a whimsical idea flitted into his mind; and he sang back—.