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Moses adored his little foster-sister when she was well; but sick, his adoration turned to blind worship. For several days Betty had been ill. Moses’ religion, bottled up during care-free days, burst forth in foam of intercession for Betty’s return to health. Harold turned and looked to where May Nell stood with the twins, sorting her flowers. “Isn’t she a daisy, though? Little—why, she’s only a baby.” “An’ where did you hear it, my dear?” she queried, cautiously feeling her way..

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“Kinder rocky.” “Never mind the floors, Billy. You’ve worked hard already; run off and have a good time.” “To-morrer’ll see my revenge,” growled Moses, now thoroughly roused to action under the protection of his own roof. All heads bowed as the compliant master of the house, with thin nervous hands outspread and in a voice quavering with piety, responded to this request. Moses of the freckled face and pale blue eyes, kept one eye open as grace was being said, in order to scan the bounteous display on the table. Furtively he chose the largest bun on the plate that was placed close to Betty, his little foster-sister. To annex the most corpulent pickle would require some slight manœuvring, but he felt sure it could be managed..