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Mrs. Wopp repeated the words, slowly rolling them on her tongue as though to extract every ounce possible of scriptural nutriment, “So they took up Joner and carst him forth inter the sea.”,

THE place Billy called the Fo’castle was a tiny room in the sloping windmill tower. It was level with the second floor of the house, and a narrow, railed bridge connected it with a door in his mother’s room. Under it was the above-ground cellar, overhead the big tank. Still higher whirled the great white wings that pumped the beauty-giving water to lawn and gardens.,

Billy peeped under the cover, not heeding the little girls’ protest. “Golly, May Nell! The Queen of Sheba won’t be in it ’long side of you.”,

Billy was off, fear lending fleetness to feet that a moment before had been leaden. He overtook his mother and Jean in the path to the Lodge. “Have you come for her?” he panted. “Do you think she’s alone still?”

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Awakened to the fact of her son’s existence and perhaps as an antidote to her unusual display of sentiment, Mrs. Wopp spoke rather sharply. “Moses, time you an’ Betty was in bed. You won’t want to git up in the mornin’ an’ milk the cows.” Later left alone in the lower part of the house she stood arms akimbo in the middle of the kitchen gazing at the door through which Nell Gordon had just departed. Shaking her head she said mysteriously, “I kalkerlate as how things is a-settin’ in that way.”,

All that dreadful day the man searched for the little girl’s mother, but their house was early prey to the flames, and he could get no trace of her. He was only passing through the city; and having fortunately saved his money and tickets, was anxious to be on his way across the Pacific. Consequently nothing better offered than to send the child with other refugees to the kind hospitality of the country.,

Billy entered with a cat under each arm. “Geewhillikins,” he introduced, “the best fighter in town,” and put down a stub-tailed, gray cat, half as large as the house pets, with “tom-cat” speaking from every hair of him. “I think mamma’s partial,—she lets sister’s cats come in the house, but not mine.”,

The basket piled high with snowy linen and cotton seemed almost to overflow the brim. Betty pressed the clothes down with her brown hands, while the complaining boy enlarged on the sordid details of that trying wash-day and on the manner in which his mother had teased him. The child’s sense of humor outbalanced even her sympathy and a peal of laughter rang out. Her laugh was a long delicious trill, as though a bird had dropped from the clouds singing still with the sunrise tangled in its notes. Moses paused long enough for a procession of commas and semicolons to pass by. Then seeing his disappointment in her apparent lack of sympathy, Betty hastened to console him.