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CHAPTER XIX.—BETTY’S ILLNESS.,
“An’ well I know who’s makin’ him stew an’ chomp. You needn’t try to deceive yer, Mar,” chided the knowing matron.,
“Maria, where is St. Elmo?” asked Mrs. Mifsud, as with flushed face she basted some fowls in the oven.,
Mrs. Mifsud had entered the room in time to hear the last remark. Owing to the paucity of minds as keenly intellectual as her own, Mrs. Mifsud always tried to keep her remarks to a suitable level so that all present might comprehend her language. The heights, alas! must be scaled by her alone. While willing to acknowledge the substantial character of Mrs. Wopp, she considered her sadly deficient in grammar and social graces. She now interposed.
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“Why, Betty?”,
She thought he should be in a warmer room, but he begged so hard to stay that she yielded. She put a bell near, that he might call her, and went to him several times before she slept, finding him somewhat restless, yet too profoundly asleep to be wakened by her light touch. Outraged nature was in charge now.,
His boyish knowledge and imagination, equal to many pictures of danger for the girl, did not extend to her captors. He never stopped to consider, nor would he have understood if he had, the plight of the criminals. He knew that two had been captured, one of whom before that had carried off May Nell; but his small newspaper reading of “gangs” of counterfeiters had given him visions of dozens of desperate criminals, terrorizing communities, and equal to any bold crime. Now in his mind’s eye he could see men skulking in the brush, listening in rooms below, only waiting to pounce on May Nell the moment she smashed the window. Oh, yes, he must hurry—hurry!,
The quaint words seemed incongruous for so small a child, as did her self-control; and the accent on the last syllable of “mama” made her seem almost foreign to Billy. Yet he admired her anew as she tried to hold still her trembling lips, to restrain her tears; as she threw up her head, winked hard, and felt vainly for a handkerchief.
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“She’s at Vine Hill—miles away; we’ll beat her if we hurry.” His words were a bit breathless.
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“Oh, I was havin’ lots of fun watchin’ the dancin’,” returned Betty rising with childish alacrity. The wistful look that belied her words disappeared like magic.
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“Oh, chuck the business,” Jean said impatiently. “Can’t it wait till noon? I must go home then.”
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>“But s’pose you change yer name, Miss Gordon,” whispered Betty slyly. “Then nobody’d know ’twas you.”
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