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“What’s Jeth perched up there fer, Par?” demanded the boy. Betty was thoroughly engrossed in her subject. Her story was entirely of birds and flowers and fairies. True, the pictures did not realize in their movements the lightning-like rapidity of “really truly” moving pictures, but they moved as fast as the young eyes that followed them could wish. Impressed with the importance of her task of instilling wisdom into the minds of her young listeners, Mrs. Wopp ignored this remark and continued the narrative into which she had already launched..

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“So long as it isn’t you, Ladybird, it’s all right,” Billy consoled; “we can make more boats.” Another sound in a somewhat higher key was heard. Moses had simply modulated in his domestic symphony of labor from a major task to a minor one. As a change and refreshing recreation, Moses was allowed to turn the small wheat-mill. Ninety soul-stirring turns it required to empty the hopper once, and he must turn out enough flour for a batch of bread. His youthful soul was in revolt at such servitude. He had no sympathy to squander on the children of Israel in bondage vile. Making bricks for Pharoah was infantile amusement compared to his labor. “Well, Moses,” queried his genial host at the supper table, “did the skating go pretty good to-day?” “Jethro,” she whispered in the ear of her playmate, “I hated jist orful to-day, an’ I didn’t hev a cheerful liver. Let’s pray together if the Lord will fergive all of us, me an’ those hateful boys, too.”.