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CHAPTER VIII.—BETTY VISITS THE CITY OF HER DREAMS. Billy beamed upon her. He adored her, as did every child in town. “Papa went away to South America when I was eight. He told me I must be very wise and help mama to do what was right,—sometimes she does take my advice, you know. I’ve tried to be brave so God would bring her back to me; but my braveness isn’t very strong yet, or I wouldn’t cry so, would I?” she questioned, with a teary little smile..
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“Let’s go to the park and play football,” Jimmy responded quickly. “Look he’s been here,” said Betty, pointing to a small footprint in the moist soil, “An’ he’s headed down the crick.” Billy heeded no prize-ring rules, no boys’ traditions of fair play. Every savage instinct inherited from far-distant ancestors and sleeping till to-day, rose, conquered the human in him, for the moment made him brutish. And the sobs of the little girls were as whips of fire. “Jimmy, can you stand?”.
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