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Up, up Billy climbed. On the bare spaces, or balanced on the point of some slender rock, he stopped frequently to look down on the beautiful valley below; on little farms laid out checker-board fashion, dark green squares for orchards, lighter green for vineyards, with tree-lined lanes running between. Overhead fleecy clouds chased one another like freshly washed, woolly sheep across the blue pasture of the heavens. In the north the great blue mountain loomed, all its opalescent tints and shadows hidden till the setting of the sun should light them forth.,Yet it was a very quiet little child that crept down to the others a few minutes later; when asked of her fortune she burst into tears.,Edith worked very hard. She called her operetta “The Triumph of Flora.” The words were her own, written hurriedly and set to familiar though classic airs. Yet many of the daintiest, most tripping melodies she wrote herself. The sorrows of humanity had winged her brain and dipped her pen in harmonies, that she might assuage them.,The expression on the childish countenance became even more complex and a close observer could have seen that all was not going to be well with Moses Wopp for the next few days, and that “he’d be sorry.”,Orl the briers from the way.,“You had very soon to fight for the Douglases, didn’t you, Roderick Dhu?” she said, as Mrs. Bennett covered her with an apron, and Billy took her up and went toward the house.,She took the child in her comforting arms. “Don’t cry, little one! We shall find her, never fear.”,“But she’s a girl.”,“Git in there, an’ no nonsense,” ordered Moses, who was chafing at the delay.,“Salute your partner, swing—your partner.” Mrs. Wopp who had expected “Swing on the corner,” had seized the unfortunate Mr. Wopp and in spite of his struggles was spinning him violently around, while their respective partners stood and looked helplessly on.,Billy was off, fear lending fleetness to feet that a moment before had been leaden. He overtook his mother and Jean in the path to the Lodge. “Have you come for her?” he panted. “Do you think she’s alone still?”,“Now ef you would jist play ‘Home Sweet Home’ with variations, my dear, we’ll arterwards hev a game of crokinole. Crokinole is sich an amusin’ game.”.