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CHAPTER XVIII.—A PAIR OF CHECKED TROUSERS. “Say, it’s a donation party, isn’t it?” Billy did not see Harold wink at the twins, but picked up his mower and started across the lawn at a trot. “Did you see the fine bin of carrots, Mar?” inquired Betty..
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“My clothes mostly,” he replied, hoping he had told the truth, though a dreadful, big feeling in his head, the humming in his ears, and the pain in his eyes, made him guess he had told a lie. “What’s the matter, Billy? Why don’t you go and play? You surely deserve a fine holiday, my big, big son.” She put her arm around him tenderly; and he saw that she remembered. He would be thirteen to-morrow. He had been counting the days; but he thought mother and sister had been too busy to think of it. It was coming—to-morrow, Sunday! If he didn’t have a good time to-day it wouldn’t be any birthday at all. “That’s a string bass.” “Yes; he’d lick him too, if Flash wasn’t Tom’s body-guard.”.
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