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St. Elmo’s face brightened with intelligence. He broke into the story to give a graphic account of how a little yellow chicken of his sister’s had got “dwownded” in the pig-trough. “Oh, no,” he sighed; “I suppose duty is the first business; but duty is such a narrow, knock-you-down little word.” His voice was tense and hard. “I have to help sister, you know.”.

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“The darned old robber!” Billy started up and walked restlessly toward the door. “I did hunt the aigs,” lied the unhappy Moses who was afraid he was going to miss something. Mrs. Newman smiled knowingly; she was familiar with his type, here to-day and gone to-morrow, with falling in love a convenient habit to give zest to the round of vaudeville performances. Mr. Zalhambra caught her smile of incredulity and murmured, “This time it is really fatal.” The amused laugh of Nell Gordon, who sat beside Mrs. Wopp, floated past the youthful pair in front and perhaps helped to embue Moses with the reckless spirit of Jehu. The boy secretly admired his teacher, though he had an idea he would soundly pummel any boy with sufficient temerity to accuse him of it..