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All heads bowed as the compliant master of the house, with thin nervous hands outspread and in a voice quavering with piety, responded to this request. Moses of the freckled face and pale blue eyes, kept one eye open as grace was being said, in order to scan the bounteous display on the table. Furtively he chose the largest bun on the plate that was placed close to Betty, his little foster-sister. To annex the most corpulent pickle would require some slight manœuvring, but he felt sure it could be managed. “Naw Nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the dorg is outside the bun already.” She took the child in her comforting arms. “Don’t cry, little one! We shall find her, never fear.”.

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Having disposed of the song, dear to her mother’s heart, in spite of the protestations of Moses, Betty went to the kitchen and in a few moments returned with a steaming pot of tea. “I think the linin’ of Miss Gordon’s cloud needs polishin’ these days,” ventured Betty, shyly. THE next morning Billy had a “temperature.” His mother decided against school for that day. At first he was glad. He didn’t care if he had forty temperatures. He thought almost anything in the way of fever was cooler than he would feel if the boys—and the girls—should see his face. Not that this was the first time he had been scratched in a fight; before he had not cared who knew. To-day it was different,—there were things about this fight he wished he could forget, even though he knew Jimmy was not likely to die. With a patient hand removin’.