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Nell Gordon, ready for school, came into the kitchen and catching sight of Betty was seized with such uncontrollable mirth that she fled upstairs again.,CHAPTER VI.—AN EVENING IN THE WOPP PARLOR.,She put out her hand for the pail but stopped suddenly, for the dog growled; and the next instant the room darkened, and a man stood in the doorway.,Ricketty jig and away we go.”,Billy heeded no prize-ring rules, no boys’ traditions of fair play. Every savage instinct inherited from far-distant ancestors and sleeping till to-day, rose, conquered the human in him, for the moment made him brutish. And the sobs of the little girls were as whips of fire.,“Naw Nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the dorg is outside the bun already.”,“It’s that Jake. He’s sich an ornery animule,” explained the boy, thus shamelessly vilifying a patient and much enduring character.,“At my brother’s Mrs. Wopp. He had just acquired it, so of course little proficiency was yet attained.”,Choosing a piece of bright yellow chalk she began to inscribe the golden text on the blackboard. She pressed too hard and the chalk cracked and fell to the floor. Pete Stolway vaulted out of his chair to capture the yellow pencil, but he had the misfortune to step on both the pieces of crayon, crushing them to sand, a heap of yellow grit.,Mrs. Mifsud threw up her hands in dismay.,THE silence was broken a little later by merry voices on the stairway. For several nights the girls had been gathering in May Nell’s room. Billy knew “things were doing” there by the sounds; the tap, tap of the tack hammer, added to much chatter and rustling. Now May Nell caught him by the hand and pulled him across the hall. A strange pungent fragrance like burning spice, yet not familiar, met them at the door. And inside, the dark hangings full of lurking shadows gave the room a foreign air.,But a second idea came that made him fidget about the room, lift his bandage and watch the children on their way to school. His record for attendance for the year had so far been perfect. He knew that he owed it partly to his mother’s tireless watch of the clock, and wondered why he had not realized this before. Now it was to be broken; she would be as sorry as he could be; and it would have counted well toward the prize. He tried to calculate how many days he could be absent and still have left some chance of it. The work was all reviewing, he almost knew it, anyway. If he only had his books,—but no, they wouldn’t let him use his eyes..