“Have you been to the show this week, Miss Gordon?” He turned from the fire and stood with his back to the cheerful blaze.,
Mrs. Snoop had been furious at this calumniation of her lamented husband. But, after learning that the sailor had depicted Mr. Snoop very accurately as to appearance and disposition, she had begun to doubt. “When she heard how Mr. Snoop let those heathen girls run after him an’ wait on him, Mrs. Mifsud,” recounted Mrs. Bliggins, “even lightin’ his pipe for him an’ puttin’ his hat on his head, she began to see things clear, an’ mark my words, she quit mournin’. She couldn’t do anything to Augustus, of course, but she sold her crape clothes and got some new bright ones, mostly red an’ yellow, just to show people how she felt. She made kindlin’ of the crayon picture of Augustus she had bought from a travellin’ agent. She said it was a cryin’ shame that Augustus Snoop, who had been brought up on two catechisms, the Mother’s an’ Shorter, afterwards joinin’ the Holy Rollers, should have taken up with those south sea trollops.”,
“How in the name of orl the aporstles did that hen git in there?” questioned Mrs. Wopp.,
Nell Gordon, ready for school, came into the kitchen and catching sight of Betty was seized with such uncontrollable mirth that she fled upstairs again.
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Mrs. Wopp’s face assumed a forgiving air as she accepted this defence. Then began that portion of the story that leads up to the tragic culmination.,
Fer our reapin’ bye ’n’ bye.”,
“What’s the use of goin’ to a dance and settin’ sleepin’ like one of them spinxes, Ebenezer?” she expostulated as she roused him from his slumbers. The good lady herself had danced almost incessantly until her face had taken on the hue of a ripe pippin.,
A gentle rap halted his reflections, a sweet voice asked to come in; and in a moment there was a rose-leaf touch on his cheek.
“Yes, when you and sister turn gray getting it out of me. No, I’m going to do real work that will earn money; and I’m going to take this never-get-enough grub-basket of mine to a table where my own hands have earned the grub.”
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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.
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“I suppose you have a large farm, Mr. Wopp,” said Nell Gordon.
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>“Sunday School, too? How long you’ll be away!”
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