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Every morning during the summer a bunch of morning-glories, wet with dew, adorned the breakfast table. Blue and pink and white, they seemed the very spirit of morning freshness and sweetness.,
“This froth looks like soapsuds,” he complained.,
As Betty Wopp and Maria Mifsud, each holding a hand of St. Elmo, left the church, they were highly entertained by that small boy’s account of a “man named Jonah who had swallowed a dwate big fish called a whale.”,
“No, it can’t wait one minute longer’n it’ll take me to get to town. Maybe I can come back though.”
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“I guess ours’ll be a grown-up chap; but I wish he’d be a boy my size. How do you guess poor old San Francisco looks to-day?”,
“He’s jist the plainest gorl-darndest dorg in the worl’, but me an’ Betty thinks heaps of him, an’ Job’s lorst one eye but he’s a dandy live feather duster orl right.” Gestures and grins illuminated this earnest speech.,
Betty staggered with her burden out into the garden to leave with her flowers the benediction of her presence and also to crave a few small favors for herself.,
In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.”
Bouncer barked at Billy’s heels. Geewhillikins chased an imaginary foe down the hill, and Jerusalem Crickets crept stealthily along the upper support of the side picket fence, trailing a venturesome sparrow.
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“This is a xylophone, take this little wooden hammer and play a few notes.” Moses took the hammer held out to him and striking a wooden bar brought out a weird but sweet sound. He struck several bars in succession and was enraptured to find that they produced a sort of veiled silvery music. “Sounds like the moon looks when you carnt see it fer clouds,” he mused, “Mar thinks I’d make a moosican, mebbe she’s right.”
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“Bctcher took orl mornin’ to tittyvate them there carrots,” offered Moses, edging up to Maria with conciliatory glances, and jostling St. Elmo who stood waiting to contribute his donation. The little fellow, whose nose was still “bluggy” from tripping over the saw-horse, dropped his lonely long scraggy carrot on the floor, and in stooping to pick it up struck his head against the handle of a hay-fork and emitted a howl that might have been heard by the heathen themselves in Africa. Betty comforted him with a gum-drop that had lain neglected in her pocket for several weeks, and the cries ceased.
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Mrs. Wopp came down the path walking as briskly as her generous avoirdupois would permit. She was followed by Ebenezer Wopp whose coat seemed to cover some abnormal growth as though a watermelon might be lodged there. It was a bundle of socks for his wife to mend during her visit to Mrs. Mifsud’s ranch.
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>“But there aren’t any deer,” the little girl objected. “What will you do for
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