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“I mix up words that way sometimes, too,” the child excused. “Surely Billy has earned it, Mrs. Bennett,” Mr. Smith urged. “Yes, you shall be our dear little girl.” Mrs. Bennett took the forlorn child in her motherly arms and kissed her. “You’re tired and hungry, too, aren’t you?”.
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Conrad
Billy had been reeling off stanzas of his favorite “Lady of the Lake,”—“by the yard,” Mrs. Bennett said, acting it as he recited, somewhat retarding the work and endangering the dishes. Now he dropped his towel, caught up his mother and raced with her around the room. He was so strong that she was almost helpless in his grasp. On the morrow, before returning home, he made several purchases with the money his mother had slipped into his hand as she whispered, “Hev a good time, Mosey, but don’t fergit to say yer prayers reglar.” “You look like some kind-faced happygo-lucky cow, chewin’ her cud,” teased Mrs. Wopp, standing at the parlor door and noting the reminiscent moving of her son’s jaws. The young dancers in the hall found the change of music decidedly exhilarating, as an occasional whoop testified..
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