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Nell’s mirth at Betty’s choice of a hymn could be stifled no longer. Howard’s studied aloofness yielded before her laughter and the hand that was not supporting Betty caught and pressed the small dimpled fingers of Nell. Mrs. Wopp rose from her chair and seating herself on the sofa beside her husband took his thin hand in her substantial one, squeezing it openly. That preliminary march was not without adventure. The “howdah” on the White Elephant where May Nell rode as the Fair Princess of Bombay, became loose and threatened to spill its small bit of royalty. And when Harold cinched the thing tighter the old cow bellowed so the smaller children broke and ran. However, they were soon back, and the procession halted at Mrs. Lancaster’s front gate in fair order. But when she saw the imposing string of wagons, children, and animals, known and unknown, she was afraid to trust her precious Buzz to them..

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He had left his traps,—the fight had sent all else flying out of his mind. No matter. He could set them in some vineyard. Already the short grass on the hills was brown, and many of the wild flowers were past their blooming. The rabbits would be seeking the tender green of the vines, the purpling alfalfa, standing lush and sweet, ready for mowing. A low rumble of thunder was heard in the distance and a flash of lightning made the coal-oil lamp look like a bilious spot in the room. “Does he?” May Nell stared innocently into the darkening eyes. “I should think that would make you awfully agitated.” “How in the name of orl the aporstles did that hen git in there?” questioned Mrs. Wopp..