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“Mar,” he demanded hastily, “more marshed turnips, please.” “Poor little Billy! You’ve had a hard night of it.” Awakened to the fact of her son’s existence and perhaps as an antidote to her unusual display of sentiment, Mrs. Wopp spoke rather sharply. “Moses, time you an’ Betty was in bed. You won’t want to git up in the mornin’ an’ milk the cows.” Later left alone in the lower part of the house she stood arms akimbo in the middle of the kitchen gazing at the door through which Nell Gordon had just departed. Shaking her head she said mysteriously, “I kalkerlate as how things is a-settin’ in that way.”.
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Thus adjured, Howard began, while Mrs. Wopp leaned back in her chair rocking vigorously. “Oh, Billy!” she said, despairingly; and he knew in spite of her smile that she disliked his words. “The little girl is looking for you. She is lonely; you must amuse her.” George nudged Jimmy. “Hit again, Sour. Come on.” The two boys went out, mysteriously embarrassed. “Jist look at that black man’s chest swellin’ in an’ out like an accorjun,” remarked Mrs. Wopp highly entertained with the sight. Moses leaned over till he was in danger of capsizing. His eager look trailed off into a point of vacuity when the performers left the stage. Bewilderment had left his eyes incapable of properly focussing. Suddenly he caught sight of Betty and he could hardly repress an exclamation of joy as he pointed her out to his mother..
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