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“Here are more beads of wampum, Betty, as I have no garden.” Nell Gordon’s silver donation added appreciably to the weight of the collection box. But a second idea came that made him fidget about the room, lift his bandage and watch the children on their way to school. His record for attendance for the year had so far been perfect. He knew that he owed it partly to his mother’s tireless watch of the clock, and wondered why he had not realized this before. Now it was to be broken; she would be as sorry as he could be; and it would have counted well toward the prize. He tried to calculate how many days he could be absent and still have left some chance of it. The work was all reviewing, he almost knew it, anyway. If he only had his books,—but no, they wouldn’t let him use his eyes. “No matter, Billy. I think she was sent to us; and we shall find a way. Are the chickens fed?”.

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“Shore nuff, what relationship do you s’pose they are all to each other now?” Moses sat down to the task; but fearing his education was being interfered with, looked up from time to time and added a hoarse phrase to the general tumult. He caught Betty’s eye and significantly squinted his own right optic to remind her of Job, whereon Betty’s voice trailed off into a half-suppressed chuckle. “Fer the love o’ Mike, kid, how did you git here?” said Moses, rousing the small sleeper. “Gosh, but yer face needs warshin’.” Even the white chickens followed in a cackling bunch as they always did when Billy appeared at this hour, for it was almost feeding time. And the pigeons wheeled and whirred, lighting almost under foot only to be up and off again, a flash of white and gray..