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Once Billy’s attention was fixed he was as earnest at work as at play. He slaughtered the weeds rapidly, and had several clean beds behind him when his mother called him to breakfast. But not that night nor for days after did Billy look at his books. The second morning the fever was still present, and he told his mother he was “all over red goose flesh.” Billy entered with a cat under each arm. “Geewhillikins,” he introduced, “the best fighter in town,” and put down a stub-tailed, gray cat, half as large as the house pets, with “tom-cat” speaking from every hair of him. “I think mamma’s partial,—she lets sister’s cats come in the house, but not mine.”.
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Conrad
Moses’ face became as mournful as his music had been. It was as though he had suddenly realized that life was, after all, more serious than one suspects in one’s idle moments. DOCTOR CARTER was not in when Billy arrived at his office breathless and hatless. He had not foreseen this. All the way to town his thoughts had raced with his wheel. He had planned how he could tell his story the quickest; had thought of no other ear for his confidence than Doctor Carter’s, the kind, all-understanding physician who had fought valiantly if losingly to save Billy’s father; who had ever since been the most thoughtful of friends as well as the best of physicians. He seemed to Billy the only man to trust with his secret. This was something that could not be told to the best mother in the world, even not considering the fright it would give her; it was quite out of a woman’s world. “I’m chored from mornin’ till night, an’ arfter I go to sleep I do some more chorin’ jist to keep my hand in.” Moses was in a distinctly peevish mood. “O Billy!” Jean gasped, fear for the little, delicate girl in that eery place lending sympathy to her voice..
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