Before answering, the child glanced fearfully around to see if his uncanny foe had gone, and he was relieved to find that Job was hastening to meet his ever-constant friend Betty who had just entered the garden. Betty’s progress had been greatly retarded by the weight of the brimimng watering-can, which she had not stopped to set down though the contents had splashed freely over her dress and shoes.,
“Kinder rocky.”,
“Rather like a dear little girl, that so will find her mother,” Mrs. Bennett reassured.
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It was Saturday afternoon on a busy street in the city. Moses Wopp and Clarence Crump, at whose home the former was spending the week end, were on their way to the skating-rink. If they had wanted to skate there, the streets would have accommodated them with a sufficiently smooth surface, as an early frost had rimed the pavement.,
Max furnished the milk. “I haf gif mine cow much sugar to make dot milk sweet for Pilly to-day,” he explained happily to Mrs. Bennett.,
The little girl forgot herself in watching them, till Billy came in, smart and almost handsome in his best suit.,
“Glory be! It’s pulled apart at the other end!” ejaculated the perspiring assistant.
“She can’t, you know; she and sister have to work hard to make what we spend now. I don’t do half enough myself.”
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“Never mind Jobie, we want Jethro to win anyway, don’t we?” said Betty, presenting to the turkey her pocket filled with grain.
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It was May Nell who first broke the silence. She had been thinking. “It isn’t so very bad to have to work, is it? Your mama looks happier than my mama does. She said she’d rather wear calico and work ever so hard, and have papa at home, than be the richest, richest without him. She cries a lot—my mama does. And now—she’s crying—for me.” The last word was a sob.
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The boy was very still for a little, but burst out presently: “I’m going to work, mother; as soon as school closes I’ll start.”
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>He looked at the beaming faces, at the beautiful table with Jean’s great pagoda cake in the centre, the dates, 1893-1906, in evergreen; at the flowers everywhere; at the dishes,—they usually ate from vine leaves at their out-of-door feasts,—at the paper napkins folded fantastically and hovering over the table like gay butterflies. His eloquent face told his surprise, his gratitude, his delight. He opened his mouth to speak some fitting word, but it wouldn’t come. He tried again, for he felt the occasion called for something formally appreciative. But only a whimsical idea flitted into his mind; and he sang back—
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