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Mr. Wopp and Moses, who had hurried to the upper storey to escape the recital of the ketchup episode, now came heavily down the stairs, their task at last finished. When brother and sister left her, strange thoughts flitted through her head. She heard Mrs. Bennett beating eggs in the kitchen; saw the logs Billy had piled in the wood-box. On the wall above the piano hung Edith’s schedule—time table, Billy called it. May Nell had already studied it, had seen the fifty or more lessons set for each week; and needlework on the music table, and books there the child had discovered were for music study,—these told her what a busy woman Billy’s sister must be. CHAPTER XIII THE HIDDEN HUT.
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“You are not a baby, my son; you’ll soon be a man, and it’s time you did your own thinking. Don’t be late for dinner.” “Betty Wopp,” she exclaimed, “you couldn’t be no wetter ef you’d fell in the big slough. Come on to the house an’ change yer clothes. St. Elmo ’ll need warshin’, too, I reckon.” “Feel that muscle,” he said a moment later; bending his arm, and pressing her fingers to it. “That’s got to grow by a broom or hoe, something besides football!” “Me neither,” George endorsed..
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