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CHAPTER XII.—THE AUTOGRAPH QUILT. “Like the lazy coward he is,” Billy tartly interrupted. But May Nell was not to be comforted, till that evening when she composed a wonderful ode to “The Wreck of the Fair Ellen.”.
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“Then he walked back as slowly and dignifiedly as a minister,—isn’t ‘dignifiedly’ an awkward word? I wonder if it is right?” To-day she was happy. It had fallen to her to general this great feast that Billy’s mates had planned for the celebration of his birthday. All had contributed. Not only the girls had cooked—Jean had baked a big cake, Jackson had made the candy, and Jimmy and George had sneaked up from the “Front,” and set up the long table in the arbor. “Now Mis’ Stephens, call the boys,” requested Mrs. Wopp who was the busiest of the group. “You don’t want to see your mother now, do you, boy? No more do you feel like jabbering with Bess at our table. Come over to the hotel, and we’ll lunch together.”.
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