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Impressed with the importance of her task of instilling wisdom into the minds of her young listeners, Mrs. Wopp ignored this remark and continued the narrative into which she had already launched.,

“How in the name of orl the aporstles did that hen git in there?” questioned Mrs. Wopp.,

“Doubtless it is incorporated in the language of some foreign people,” conceded Mrs. Mifsud, languidly.,

The gentle words, the tender touch, the comfort and hope in her words, unlocked his lips and he told what he had thought to keep forever untold.

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Then Moses commenced. He ran up and down a chromatic scale of puffs and groans and sniffles, ending with a cadence that sounded like, “Gosh dern!”,

“Betty’s not goin’ to no kingdom come yet,” assured Mrs. Wopp, her optimism rising like a star of the first magnitude to lighten the darkness of her son’s midnight sky.,

He woke early the next morning. This was rare for him; he usually slept like a bear in midwinter. Perhaps the creaking of the windmill all through the night made his slumber light. Another noise had disturbed him, the sewing machine. Its whirr had come up to him from the open window of the living-room. He knew mother and sister were sewing hard, that on the morrow the poor little stranger might be suitably clad. He had brought upon them this extra work! And this was only the beginning. If the child’s mother was not found they must buy clothes as well as food; and this would take a lot of his sister’s money.,

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.