Billy was the sun, dressed in a pale yellow tunic, and crowned with a fillet of sun-bursts cut from gilt paper. He came but a little way on the stage from the south for each of his short solos; and the others pelted him back. Especially did he hide from Rain behind Cloud, a tall girl in a small ocean of gray tulle.,
“That’s good news. Run ahead, boy, and show us the way. Fly, fly!”,
The scene ended in a crash of music; the curtain fell to a house wild with cheering. Edith and the principal performers were called again and again before the curtain. It was a generous, appreciative audience, giving its heartiest approval by rising.,
His mutterings rumbled along, a series of submerged imprecations. He paused for breath and as soon as he had accumulated enough for his dire purpose, he swore what was to him a long and fearful oath.
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“I did hunt the aigs,” lied the unhappy Moses who was afraid he was going to miss something.,
“Shame on you Moses, rampagin’ an’ bellerin’ there like a gang of coyotes,” remonstrated his mother.,
“O Billy!” Jean gasped, fear for the little, delicate girl in that eery place lending sympathy to her voice.,
“Git in there, an’ no nonsense,” ordered Moses, who was chafing at the delay.
In the hours of joy that followed, joy known only to boys and farms in conjunction, Billy,—and it was unusual for him,—more than once recalled his mother’s words; heeded them to the extent of bidding Harold a reluctant good-bye when the sun was still blazing high above the horizon. But when, on his way home, he came to the branching of the road his good resolution weakened. He looked back. The sun was surely more than an hour high. He would have time to go up the hill road to the “Ha’nt.” And, beside that, he wished to look at the river where its divided flow encircled a tiny, shrub-grown island.
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A chill as from an ice field swept over Billy. His heart seemed to fall down, down, as far as his shoes. He noticed that things looked darker, and his head felt light and queer. Another fear assailed him; would he, too, collapse, leave the little girls alone with the terror of two senseless boys?
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Mrs. Wopp was an incurable optimist, although the citadel of her optimism was being assailed. Turning her wrathful gaze from Moses, her eye lighted on the soiled pink hat and antimacassar still worn by Job. She burst into a hearty laugh and turned to Betty.
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Bingbing-Li
CHAPTER XI.—JONAH AND THE WHALE.
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>Betty gazed shyly at her inquisitor. Her brown eyes sparkled with the adventure of meeting a real live piannerist, as she called him. Dinner was over and Mr. Zalhambra stood before the fire in the drawing-room grate. Stooping to warm his large white hands over the flame, his hypnotic eyes reflected strangely the glow of the fire. He watched Nell Gordon as she sat stroking the flowing fair tresses of Betty.
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