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“Oh, I was havin’ lots of fun watchin’ the dancin’,” returned Betty rising with childish alacrity. The wistful look that belied her words disappeared like magic.,By the time the deep apple-pie was brought in, raised in the centre by a cup, he had become facetious, and turning a mirthful countenance to Nell, he whispered audibly, “Isn’t it just like Fuji Yama?” Before Nell could answer, Betty broke in.,“Good hearts need no fairy wings,” Mrs. Bennett replied to Billy while she smiled at the little girl. “Jean told her mother about our May Nell, and Mrs. Hammond came over with a generous lot of outgrown things.”,The eloquent teacher looked to see some immediate tangible effect from this bald statement of the result of Jonah’s disobedience, and during her recital gazed sternly on Pat Bliggins and Pete Stohway as objects the most in need of her oratory.,“Sunday School, too? How long you’ll be away!”,The elders, having settled at their task, Maria Mifsud and Betty, who were considered too young and irresponsible to assist with such important work, made their way to the creek, that perennial source of amusement for the youthful. They were accompanied by Maria’s small brother, St. Elmo. Here, during the long summer afternoon they gaily disported themselves, even the rather dignified Maria entering with zest into childish fun.,A faint sound caught his ear, as of clinking coins and soft voices. People there! He had thought it before, now he was certain. Were not both brothers away?,Yet they had already stopped, turned, and driven quickly to the house, hurried by the frenzy in the boy’s tones.,Mrs. Wopp was an incurable optimist, although the citadel of her optimism was being assailed. Turning her wrathful gaze from Moses, her eye lighted on the soiled pink hat and antimacassar still worn by Job. She burst into a hearty laugh and turned to Betty.,“That’s you, papa,” Clarence piped, as an anxious post warning.,The man faced her abruptly. “The devil he knows!”,Now in the silence and fragrance his tightened springs began to relax. Presently he found himself in a dream of possibilities of the island,—Ellen’s Isle, he always called it; of what might be done with the smooth places in the river, the hills, Sunol Creek not far away, boiling and tumbling in boisterous beauty; of hidden nooks, piled boulders, and tiny meadows, vine-enclosed and flower-fragrant..