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They all went off, a merry, noisy troop. And the disappearing sun was the last to say to Billy “Good-night.” “Look he’s been here,” said Betty, pointing to a small footprint in the moist soil, “An’ he’s headed down the crick.” “Yes, now. Once she must have been about the same size, you know.” She stood behind the child caressing her cheek..

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“You don’t like Sir Thomas because he’s a little indolent.” What delightfully busy and secret evenings Betty spent in the kitchen with Mrs. Wopp helping and expostulating! What dismal sighs from Moses who, like the Marchioness, cooled his eye at the keyhole! His sighs penetrated through the said keyhole and almost softened the obdurate Betty; but, alas, his eavesdropping ended only in whetting the edge of his curiosity! What yelps from Jethro when Moses trod on his foot in headlong flight from the door as his mother approached! What copious notes written by Ebenezer Wopp on the whispering and conspiracies in the kitchen! And then again what sweeping up and burning of cardboard, what hunting through old newspapers and magazines, and what clicking of scissors while a small pair of jaws worked simultaneously! What gorgeous hues from the paint-box as Betty mixed her colors and painted innumerable pictures cut from the magazines! Animals, birds, flowers! Gay as color could make them! A veritable garden and zoo turned loose in the kitchen! Had he but dreamed on for an hour or so he would have returned, rested, refreshed, the cheery boy that helped to make the Bennett house a home. But a voice in the road above startled him. Only a word was spoken, a greeting; but it was surly and foreign, Italian. The expression on the childish countenance became even more complex and a close observer could have seen that all was not going to be well with Moses Wopp for the next few days, and that “he’d be sorry.”.