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“And Bouncer’s here,” May Nell added, hugging the dog affectionately. What he saw there lent wings to his feet. “No, no, dear. Keep them, an’ I’ll put them in warter when we go to the house,” begged Betty. “The fairies are orful cross when they see dead flowers lyin’ round. Mebbe they might be too angry to come in the garding again ever.”.
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“Now Mis’ Stephens, call the boys,” requested Mrs. Wopp who was the busiest of the group. “Avaunt, hesitating noddy! The angel child is quite safe!” Bess waved an arm, partly bare and brown in spots. He sat by the table in his dressing-room with angry storm-swept countenance. He had been capturing loud plaudits with his rag-time, until intoxicated with success, he swept into a tornado of music by Moskowski. The applause died away; two ladies in the front row began chatting. The enraged artist jumped from the piano-stool, and shouting “Pigs!” raced from the platform. CHAPTER IV.—WASH-DAY AT MRS. WOPP’S..
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