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“An orful good-natured tied-in-at-the-waist critter, aint it?” commented Moses.,

At this moment a wild whoop was heard, and through the open door Moses could be seen dashing out of the corral gate on his cow-pony.,

It took some time to focus her intellect on the proper placing of mirthful youngsters, but at last, after singing “Like a little candle burning in the night,” all were in readiness to imbibe biblical learning.,

“Yes,” Billy answered breathlessly as he leaped from the buggy; “but we’ll have to go in the way I did if you want to catch ’em sure. We can come out by the trail.”

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In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.”,

Moses’ intuition regarding St. Elmo’s retreat proved to be correct, and it was a sadly dejected countenance on which he gazed when he looked into the cave. Tears, dirt, and the juice of Saskatoon berries mingled on the fair sleeping face of the child, until he seemed to be the very Cree Indian he had so often personated in his play. His long curls were tangled and matted with small twigs. His diminutive brown velvet coat displayed a large rent in the elbow through which oozed a pathetic-looking suppuration of pink and white checked shirt.,

“I hope when you are growed up, my dear, you will never dance them waltzes an’ two-steps. The good Lord carnt love them as does sich things.”,

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.