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“Yes, yes; take us to the park, papa,” piped one half of the Siamese Twins. While Betty, mounted on a bench in the shed, was getting down her watering-can, Job, who during the afternoon had searched diligently but vainly for her, rounded the corner of the garden fence. He noted the open gate and sped towards it. As he entered the garden his eye fell on St. Elmo who stood absorbed and expectant. The turkey, his odd corner-wise gait accentuated by his anxiety of mind, rushed towards the child who at first did not notice his approach. But presently, turning around, St. Elmo beheld an apparently formidable assailant which by the most powerful flight of imagination could not be mistaken for a fairy. All escape by way of the gate was shut off by the intruder. St. Elmo’s plump legs, bare above his low socks, twinkled as he ran wildly towards the foot of the garden. “Golly! There’s nothing skewgee about that fortune,” Billy commented, encouragingly..

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“Peter Stolway, what is a whale?” Though these and similar remarks seemed rather personal no resentment was felt by anybody. BILLY did not lift his face from the pillow; he was striving to steady throat and voice. “Gosh! Wisht Betty was here right this minute. Mebbe I’m dyin’. Hope nobody starts twangin’ a harp. My nose is worser’n ever!”.