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Mrs. Wopp rose from her chair and seating herself on the sofa beside her husband took his thin hand in her substantial one, squeezing it openly. Billy took the can she held toward him, and made a face that was half fun, half discontent, yet not unloving. As his mother turned indoors he noticed again that she was pale, and that her shoulders drooped; and a sudden heat rose in his heart against the widowhood and poverty that made it necessary for her to work so hard. When he grew to be a man, he told himself, he would buy her a diamond ring and a silk dress; and she should sit all day in the big rocking chair and work no more. “Don’t stan’ starin’ there like Betty’s chiner doll, go git another of my pies.”.

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Some of the voices were cracked and others badly out of tune. Moses Wopp’s voice, loudest of all, sounded like a foghorn and the windows fairly rattled in their frames. Nell motioned him to her desk. She thought by occupying his attention elsewhere the music lesson might proceed with more melody and less noise. Moses had developed his stentorian tones at home, by the lusty singing of Hallelujah hymns under the strict supervision of his mother. Clarence had crossed the Pons Asinorum; a series of intoxicated circles, with sharp-cornered triangles piercing their fat sides, bore eloquent testimony to his faltering steps. “My eye!” exclaimed Clarence, mockingly shading his eyes from his sister’s radiance, “She’s got her joy-bells on, what’s the stunt?” Moses suspended operations on the woodpile and leaned against it. “Huh,” he grunted with masculine superiority, “all girls think of is looks. Some of them sorft lookin’ teachers is the wust when it comes to lickin’ the kids. You can’t jedge a hoss by his hide.”.