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Moses began cutting make-believe tickets using the paper and scissors thrust into his hand by the capable manageress of the show. 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. The energetic Mrs. Wopp had accompanied her commands to Moses by a wide sweeping of arms, and from these ample arms had billowed yards of sheeting to cover from the ruinous soot her treasured parlor possessions..

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To-day his mother’s words had left a pang. He would soon be a man and have to “think for himself.” Yes, and work, too. “Gee whiz! It’ll be tough not to play any more,” he exclaimed under his breath as he bowled along the tree-lined road that led to the Prettyman farm. “Yes, we shall marry her ourselves,” Evelyn echoed; while both girls made childish efforts to rehabilitate the depressed cousins. “How in the name of orl the aporstles did that hen git in there?” questioned Mrs. Wopp. “Wot fer? You girls is alius thinkin’ o’ money.” Moses clinked the nickels in his pocket with the air of a Vanderfeller. Betty’s voice became wheedling..