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As they neared the house with their disquieting news, Mr. Wopp and Moses were just alighting from the democrat, while Mrs. Mifsud at the open door stood calling out cheery greetings. Betty had a conviction, though an unspoken one, that Moses was the primary cause of Job’s infirmity. The slowest of a large family of striped fluffy turkeys to emerge from the shell, he had been assisted in his efforts by the impatient Moses. Betty felt sure that the clumsy fingers of the boy had ruined the little turkey’s eye. The accusation, however, was too dreadful to be put into words. “Jist as soon’s you finish yer dinner an’ yer noon chores, Moses, I want you to go weed them beets,” instructed Mrs. Wopp. “The weeds is chokin’ them out an’ I see the gophers has been eatin’ some o’ them, too.”.

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“Well, I’ll be blowed, gosh! Mar’d larf to hear you tarlk. You’ll darn my socks, two bits or no two bits, ef Mar says.” A whoop startled her and she turned to see a handsome boy racing up on a brown pony, also carrying a basket. “So you can, but I’ll carry you just the same.” His smothering hold warned her to quiescence; and she did not stir till he set her within the rear door. “Moses stan’s on his head so’s his brains’ll filter back into place,” teased Mrs. Wopp..