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“I mix up words that way sometimes, too,” the child excused. “I didn’t—I haven’t washed. I’m—” All at once as Billy walked through the tiled entrance, and felt himself in the midst of splendors he had viewed only from without, he was overcome with the suspicion that he looked rather queer beside the immaculate Doctor. He knew his hair “stood up all ways for Sunday”; and his face must be dirty. “But they won’t know how dirty,” he reflected; “this is[211] the time them plaguey freckles’ll get in an’ hide the dust.” Freckles were Billy’s sorest point. But May Nell was not to be comforted, till that evening when she composed a wonderful ode to “The Wreck of the Fair Ellen.”.
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Mrs. Bennett leaned over him without speaking for a minute, but stroked his hair softly. “Remember, with One there is no ‘forever.’ As long as we live we have a chance to retrieve. Rest on that, my child. Now you must sleep.” She kissed him and was silent, for a drop glistened on his cheek she knew he would not wish her to notice. “It’s only your notion, Billy, that mother’s cream is best; but I’ve been very happy making it for you.” She began at once to serve it. “This froth looks like soapsuds,” he complained. “Wot fer? You girls is alius thinkin’ o’ money.” Moses clinked the nickels in his pocket with the air of a Vanderfeller. Betty’s voice became wheedling..
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