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In the matter of the next adventure, Moses’ feet were fast approaching that degree known as freezing point. But spurred on by the resolute will of his sister he rose to the occasion of a chariot race, adapted from “Ben Hur.” They had never forgotten the thrill they had experienced when one day at Mrs. Mifsud’s house the nephew of that good lady, with city-bred art, had recited in melodramatic fashion “Ben Hur’s Chariot Race.” “O Billy, the poor rabbit will surely be caught; and you know the stag hid in ‘Trosach’s wildest nook.’” Gamin’ out the thorns an’ charff,.
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His fork having safely landed its cargo, Mr. Wopp laid it carefully down and remarking, “I must make a note of that,” he began to inscribe Nell’s diplomatic request. As he leaned over the paper, his head shone like a round china lamp-shade, its shining expanse relieved here and there, by long wisps of grey hair. Mrs. Wopp’s suggestion had an immediate and salutary effect on the boy. Moses’ opinion, repressed, however, in his bursting bosom, was of a like complexion, only much more vivid. He was hesitating between the liquid verge of tears and the lambent verge of profane utterance. “Please, Mister, my nose was bleedin’ an’ I lorst my way lookin’ fer warter, an’ here I am on Jording’s stormy banks.”.
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