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On Moses Wopp devolved the responsibility of driving the ladies of the household over the two miles of prairie lying between the Wopp ranch and that of Mrs. Mifsud. Betty, too, was going. The Ladies’ Aid did not meet every day, nor had it always on hand the alluring business of an autograph quilt, on which flourished in outlined boldness the name of every man, woman and child in the district and many out of it. The hours passed in an uproar of fun. The table was dismantled, toys, tools, and dishes put away, and the feast had sped into the past. “No ‘chase’ to-day, girls. I’ve got business in town.”.

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The pianist walked on the stage as the eyes of Mrs. Wopp and Moses rested on Betty. Howard Eliot had not taken his gaze from Nell Gordon expecting momentarily to catch her glance and to be rewarded by a smile. A smile radiated her fair face, but alas! It was not for him. Betty, feeling that further explanations were worse than useless, submitted to be led to the sink where her energetic foster-mother subjected her to so many soapy treatments that in a few minutes time she emerged very red in the face but purified. Mrs. Wopp, after ascertaining that the little boy had received no bodily injury, stood mopping her heated face with the half-mended sock. She ceased operations to survey Betty more carefully. “Yeh, Mar.”.