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“What song would you like, Betty?” Old Dom Pedro, scenting fresh excitement, snorted and bolted. The Strong Man was not strong enough to hold him to line, though he guided the horse safely to the Carter stable, where Bess appeared suddenly, swaying alarmingly in her flimsy snake cage. “But, Billy, Tom opens it for him! He climbs up, gets his nose in, and the largest part of himself; then he crowds along as hard as he can, and calls to Flash, ‘The way is clear; come’;—you needn’t laugh; he says it just as plain as words,” she protested. “And Flash springs up, creeps through, and jumps to the floor, with Tom after him; and the screen slaps to with a big noise. I’ve seen them do it three times this week. Isn’t that a wonder?”.

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But after a time Jethro grew very tired of playing with a dilapidated shoe, a shiny bone, a grimy dish-mop and other erstwhile interesting things, and he thought it would be delightful to make friends with Nancy and play with her. But Nancy was still unapproachable. When Jethro capered up to her she arched her back and spat at him. Not being a thin-skinned puppy, he refused to consider this rebuff as final. In his anticipation of the Sunday afternoon treat in store for him, Moses dreamed all that night of little dark-skinned men running round after him with bowls of rice and jabbing him with chop-sticks. Betty, orphaned at the age of six, had been adopted by the kind-hearted Mrs. Wopp. The child found her chief joy in life, outside of Jethro, Nancy and Job, in a flower-bed. A small plot of ground had been allotted her for her own use, and there every spring for the last four years her precious flowers had bloomed and had filled her eyes with brightness and her soul with gladness. Morning-glories and nasturtiums were the surest to bloom. They climbed the strings so gracefully and turned the old weather-beaten fence where they grew into a tapestry of gorgeous dyes. “I did hunt the aigs,” lied the unhappy Moses who was afraid he was going to miss something..