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“Did you hev a good time in the city larst week, Mis’ Mifsud?” asked Mrs. Wopp, politely. But ideas came flooding into Betty’s active mind. The desire to fill her box, augmented by an even greater desire to let Moses see she didn’t need his shekels, sent electrical energy to her brain. Howard sat back in his chair and thought of the possibilities of seeing Nell. He reflected that they were as good as engaged. Mrs. Wopp had given her diagnosis of the case enigmatically, perhaps, but with a degree of accuracy denoting keen observation on the evening of his last visit at the Wopp household. For fully a fraction of a minute Nell had let him hold her hand, and then her face all dimpling had turned to say good-night. He was rehearsing what he should say next time she dimpled so irresistibly and he breathed anathemas on his asinine conduct in being so shy and tardy. He was brought to the immediate present by Moses who was regarding an ice-cream soda with suspicion..

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“Billy, ask Mr. Patton to let her come to your house! There aren’t any boys.” Jean’s voice trembled with eagerness. The child had been content to extract but fleeting moments of sweetness from the confection and as the weeks passed had in the time-honored custom kept the canes shining. Thus accumulated quite a bagful of the tempting sweets. These she sold to a haughty plutocrat at school for a dime. This coin of the realm made a pleasing clatter in her wooden box; but she reflected, not without some degree of logic, that ten cents would not go very far in carrying salvation to the suffering heathen in Africa. “There Nancy,” she whispered, “is a sunbeam for breakfast dipped in milk.” “Moses, here with that pie,” called the gratified Mrs. Wopp, “Yer par wants some.”.