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“Oh yes,” said Betty solemnly, “they tell me orl their secrets. They call me their Mornin-Glory Girl.” As she spoke she leaned over to touch with her slender, brown fingers one of the pure, white bells. “Of course they won’t be too tired! The kids have pluck.” “Oh, no; she must be Jean.”.
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Conrad
Balancing her voice on a very high note she popped her head through the dining-room door to speak to her husband. He was seated at the table reading “The Family Herald.” His straggling grey locks were disordered with his mental effort and formed a frieze of irregular design on his shining forehead. Mrs. Wopp’s voice, in a moment, was safe on terra firma. There was a half-grown calf with an artificial hump for the “Water Buffalo”; and Harry and Clarence were cunningly strapped together for the Siamese Twins. “You’re George Rideout Smith’s kid, ain’t you?” “Now Mis’ Stephens, call the boys,” requested Mrs. Wopp who was the busiest of the group..
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