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“Measles,” Mrs. Bennett pronounced; and though it was a light case, and in a day or so Billy felt as well as ever except his eyes, they were sentenced to a dark room.,Billy ran off full of vague expectation born of his mother’s smile. No one in all the country round, not even Harold Prettyman, whose father had the finest farm in Vine County, had such a splendid place to play as the Bennetts’ back lot that sloped down to Runa Creek. As Billy slammed the gate and bounded out on a huge boulder that hung over the creek, a sounding cheer greeted him from below.,“How much will you pay fer them fer my missionary box?” bargained the child. “Will four shinin’ new quarters do?”,“Why do you think that’s so dreadful?”,This act opened with a hidden chorus that lasted two or three moments, the fairies on the one hand inviting the elves and gnomes to join them; the others responding. While this was in progress Billy rushed to the boys’ dressing room and talked furiously but straight to the purpose.,“It might have been to-day’s roast,” Edith protested, as she took the snarling Geewhillikins from his feast. “You see why Billy’s cats don’t come in the house, May Nell.”,“Grand chain,” bawled Geordie evidently feeling his importance, “dos-et-dos, ladies’ chain, swing on the corners, and put some feelin’ in your step.,“Mose, hoi’ this benighted idjit of a jint till I drive a nail in the wall to wire it up,” called Mr. Wopp, thrusting a nail between his teeth and turning his back on his wife.,“All this turnin’ is good for the liver too you know,” she continued, as her son’s vinegary expression remained unaltered.,Edith worked very hard. She called her operetta “The Triumph of Flora.” The words were her own, written hurriedly and set to familiar though classic airs. Yet many of the daintiest, most tripping melodies she wrote herself. The sorrows of humanity had winged her brain and dipped her pen in harmonies, that she might assuage them.,Mrs. Bennett was setting the table. She put down a pile of plates, and a new anxiety came into her careworn face. “A child? I told Mr. Patton I couldn’t take one.”,He swung his book-strap in greeting to his mother while rolling more slowly up the rose-bordered path to the veranda. He thought his mother’s face looked tired; but the smile there welcomed him warmly, and he forgot the tired look with her first words..