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How the missionary box would jingle! How the heathen would sing for joy! While on the Wopp table carrot pudding could become a diurnal felicity! “Did Clarence show you the sights of the city this morning?” asked Mr. Crump, trying to repress a smile. All went well for some blocks. There was a flattering audience at each front door; a few honored the pageant by following. These were mostly mothers of the younger children, who knew the possibilities of such an aggregation of animals and boys..

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“Fer the love of mike, what’s that noise?” Moses’ eyes seemed to almost dart from his head. The others looked up as a distinct rustling was heard in the parlor. Moses was on his feet first. The noise came from the stove. The trail was for the most part smooth and uneventful, but here and there the wheels of the democrat dipped into a gopher hole, causing anxiety and discomfort, especially to those in the back seat. These ladies were holding on to the side bars with utmost tenacity, yet Mrs. Wopp afterwards asserted, that when a particularly vicious depression was encountered, they were bounced violently at least three feet in the air and were considerably worried lest they should not land on the seat again. However, they displayed great fortitude under these distressing circumstances, and by the time Moses had calmed the horses to a slower pace, they had regained self-possession. A tall, lean, loose-jointed, large-limbed man was enjoying the frosty air and walked briskly humming a gay tune. All at once he found his face upturned to the glorious blue sky and a youthful voice reached his ear, “Did you see the telegraph pole sail over that icy spot?” Then another voice equally youthful, but with a distinct absence of city polish, answered, “Betcher life I seen him, wouldn’t of missed it fer a punkin pie, he’s lookin’ fer gopher holes in the ground yet.” Ladies cross your lily-white hands.