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Mrs. Wopp came down the path walking as briskly as her generous avoirdupois would permit. She was followed by Ebenezer Wopp whose coat seemed to cover some abnormal growth as though a watermelon might be lodged there. It was a bundle of socks for his wife to mend during her visit to Mrs. Mifsud’s ranch.,Mr. Wells the clergyman was of English birth, very conservative and inclined to be shy. He was unusually tall with broad shoulders. Mrs. Wopp once said of him, “When Mr. Wells gits his gownd on, he’s the hull lan’scape.” The deeply pious lady seldom criticized things ecclesiastical; but she had “feelin’s that ef Ebenezer Wopp bed of took to larnin’ like his Mar wished, he’d of looked amazin’ well in that pulpit, better nor Mr. Wells.”,“Now Mis’ Stephens, call the boys,” requested Mrs. Wopp who was the busiest of the group.,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.,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.”,“Try a mile with this can and see where you come out in the race.”,The inexorable portrait on the wall seemed to gaze down on the recalcitrant youth with disapproval.,Mrs. Bennett knew better than Billy how much thumping a boy could live through; and reassured him while she took off his soiled garments, and started below for hot water and remedies.,CHAPTER III.—A DAY AT SCHOOL.,“That’s you, papa,” Clarence piped, as an anxious post warning.,Betty gazed shyly at her inquisitor. Her brown eyes sparkled with the adventure of meeting a real live piannerist, as she called him. Dinner was over and Mr. Zalhambra stood before the fire in the drawing-room grate. Stooping to warm his large white hands over the flame, his hypnotic eyes reflected strangely the glow of the fire. He watched Nell Gordon as she sat stroking the flowing fair tresses of Betty.,“What’ll I sing Betty?”.