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“Never mind, Mosey, we’ll tell Miss Gordon. She’ll give them sulphur an’ brimstone to-morrer.”,The child seeing the twinkle in the older eyes, laughed aloud; and, wrapped in a voluminous apron, began the first task that had ever left its stain on her pretty fingers.,“But there aren’t any deer,” the little girl objected. “What will you do for,Bess’s coming launched the procession. People in the vicinity who had not before known of the presence of a circus, knew it now. Everybody talked at once, and every living thing made its own kind of a noise. Billy as Master of Ceremonies had his hands full, his voice full too, one might say.,“Oh, no! It’s too much. We only did what all—”,At this juncture there was a knock at the door. It was Howard Eliot who had called for Nell.,Billy at work or at play was so absorbed that it was hard for him to measure time; and he had a queer notion that it was some other intelligence beside his own will that reminded him, often too late, of duties waiting. This he named Betsey; and among the children Betsey came to stand for Billy’s conscience.,SUNDAY brought rain, and Mrs. Bennett decided that May Nell must remain quietly in the house. The only apparent result of her exciting day, and the faint, was a languor that made her willing to obey, to curl up by the fire, with Sir Thomas by her side. He was a tremendous cat, who accepted lazily all the caresses bestowed upon him, while Flash, his white mate, was shy, and unless forced, would not appear before strangers.,“Never mind Mosey, Next Monday I’m goin’ to ask Mar to let me stay home and turn the nasty mouldy machine.”,The Queen of Sheba in gypsy dress, and her harum-scarum train buzzing with gossip and exclamation, flocked in. Bess looked magnificent in a mass of draperies that included every Oriental thing to be found in several families.,He looked at the beaming faces, at the beautiful table with Jean’s great pagoda cake in the centre, the dates, 1893-1906, in evergreen; at the flowers everywhere; at the dishes,—they usually ate from vine leaves at their out-of-door feasts,—at the paper napkins folded fantastically and hovering over the table like gay butterflies. His eloquent face told his surprise, his gratitude, his delight. He opened his mouth to speak some fitting word, but it wouldn’t come. He tried again, for he felt the occasion called for something formally appreciative. But only a whimsical idea flitted into his mind; and he sang back—,“Peter Stolway, may I arsk you to tell out loud what you was whisperin’?”.