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“One of the brothers, hurt.”,
“Surely; but—”,
“There Nancy,” she whispered, “is a sunbeam for breakfast dipped in milk.”,
Jean’s face fell, and she didn’t look at Billy when she spoke. “My mother says I mustn’t wrestle any more.”
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“Two coyotes most hed him,” he explained. “Jist near the big slough, the spunky little critter started chasin’ them. Then they turned on him an’ he done some fine sprintin’. I tried to turn the team to go an’ meet him, but the hosses acted up, an’ as soon as I got them quieter the dog was atween them an’ the coyotes slinkin’ away. It were a close shave fer him.”,
“Don’t go off Mr. Potter’s land, will you, May Nell? The fenced part, I mean. Eat some lunch soon; Billy may be gone an hour longer. Good-bye. Don’t get too tired. I’ll send Clarence if I can find him.”,
In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.”,
“I b’lieve I’ll go an’ git the warterin’ can,” announced Betty. “These pansies is orful dry, an’ even ef the sun is shinin’ on them, some warter round the roots wont hurt. You stay here, St. Elmo, an’ I’ll be back in a minute.”
“That’s you, papa,” Clarence piped, as an anxious post warning.
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Nancy had jumped on a chair, and when Jethro pranced up to her again she promptly boxed his ear. The blow, delivered with such a soft paw, could not have been very severe, but the feelings of the pup were badly hurt. He did not yelp, but his brown eyes grew solemn and wistful and he ceased his antics. He put his forepaws on the rung of the chair and looked long and appealingly at Nancy. The cat sat down, her paws doubled under her, and apparently remained quite unmoved. But her heart may have been touched more than an observer would imagine, because from that time, she gradually grew more tolerant towards the pup. Now they were very good friends.
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“Let’s go to the park and play football,” Jimmy responded quickly.
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But just before they were to enter the park Bouncer had his innings. A rabbit, startled, sprang from under the roadside bushes and ran down the street toward the open country. Bouncer’s tail went up. He dashed out of line, overturned the Polar Bear’s cage, and was off after his quarry, barking wildly, with the fast disrupting cage dangling at his heels. The Polar Bear, liberated, flew home like a streak of white light. The trained dogs broke from their struggling boy leaders, carrying with them gleaming bits of red paper uniform.
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>“Mar,” he demanded hastily, “more marshed turnips, please.”
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