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The best amusement of the hours of imprisonment was planning for the performance of “The Lady of the Lake.” Nothing definite, except that it was to be out of doors, had unfolded till now, when irksome leisure and May Nell’s quick mind together bore fruit. The broad shaft of sunlight that flooded the dining-room where Nell Gordon sat was suddenly darkened. Looking up she saw the tall straight figure of Howard Eliot at the doorway. “They’re great frauds, those aristocratic cats of sister’s,” Billy explained; “not a bit of use. They won’t fight, and—”.

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The child had been content to extract but fleeting moments of sweetness from the confection and as the weeks passed had in the time-honored custom kept the canes shining. Thus accumulated quite a bagful of the tempting sweets. These she sold to a haughty plutocrat at school for a dime. This coin of the realm made a pleasing clatter in her wooden box; but she reflected, not without some degree of logic, that ten cents would not go very far in carrying salvation to the suffering heathen in Africa. She pressed him closer and kissed him. And soon he slept. As the stove door opened for the intrepid Moses, out flew Tillie the white bantam hen now as black as a crow with soot. She fluttered into the face of Moses who was kneeling before the stove. Billy turned the bulky papers over and over as if to gather some hint of their meaning from fold and stiffness. “What is it, Mr. Smith?” he asked wonderingly..