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“Come here Betty, till I clean yer face. Where is that boy Moses? I know he had a hand in this. Drat him anyhow,” said the incensed Mrs. Wopp.,Clarence, however, when questioned, declared, “I haven’t seen the little shaver since dinner.”,The sun rose over the hills and his presence could be ignored no longer. As the Wopp family were driving silently home in the chilly morning, Moses, growing reminiscent, remarked with a yawn:,“Rocky?” he interrupted. “You bet not. It’ll be just bully, that’s what!”,“Jiminy whiz! This is my very last week of boy; next week I’ll have to be a man,” he said gloomily.,Relieved, yet with his nerves quivering Billy plunged into the deep woods of the higher altitudes. The air was unusually hot and stifling, and his eyes watered. “Fire in the woods somewhere,” he murmured, recognizing the odor of smoke.,The man gave him an affectionate slap. “Go, then. You’re a right game kid, sure.”,“And I’m always going to be your little girl, too,” the child pleaded; “so Billy must be my papa’s little boy.”,“Stop that there ‘Dead March of Saul,’ an’ go put on yer overalls,” ordered Mrs. Wopp, “what’s the idear of the gardenin’ tool, go git the littlest shovel to put inter the chimbly, an’ don’t let the grass grow under yer feet, neither.”,Mrs. Wopp had a request from Mrs. Williams. She, the requestor, was ill with a touch of “pewmonia,” as Mrs. Wopp afterward related, and would Mrs. Wopp the requestee oblige by taking her Sunday-school class for the following Sunday afternoon.,But minds may stray though eyes seem attentive. Two boys began to indulge surreptitiously in the mild amusement of extracting toothsome kernels from refractory shells. Cracking nuts not being conducive to alertness of mind, Mrs. Wopp promptly confiscated a large bag of filberts which proved to be the joint property of Pat Bliggins and Pete Stolway.,“I knew it!” Billy panted feverishly. “The Ha’nt!” Heedless of the dog running with his nose close to the ground, Billy rushed on. His shirt was torn, his trousers hanging by one suspender, his shoes cut and one tap turned back. Ashes whitened his hair; though at the back a dark mat was still damp from oozing blood,—the handkerchief that had bound it had been torn off by a twitching twig. His smarting eyes watered so that he could hardly see his way. Yet of all this he was unconscious. Weariness, pain, his cracked and bleeding lips,—he knew nothing of them, felt nothing..