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“Geegustibus! You kids are doin’ a fine job,” Billy encouraged, as he walked by the line of little bending, sweating backs. “There never was a railroad built on the square like this. Contractors on time; men a-workin’ that’s got brains an’ ain’t afraid to use ’em. Jiminy crickets, it’s fine!” “P’raps I’ll hinder more than help,” Howard answered, grasping Mrs. Wopp’s outstretched hand and looking questioningly at Nell. “Jiminy! I’ll have time in the morning,” he said aloud, and hurried on, not slackening his speed till he came to a sharp turn that took the road against the face of a rugged mountain. He hid his wheel and can in a tangle of rose vine and snowdrop, and stood out on the edge of the steep bluff that overhung the rushing river. There bloomed the island. Near the centre a rocky point was aflame with gorgeous poppies; and Billy could smell the fragrance of the snowy wild heliotrope,—pop-corn the children called it..

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“That’s Flash; he always works for his breakfast,” Billy pompously approved. “Mudgie, Mudgie,” he shrieked. “Run, Billy! You left the door open—she’ll get the dinner!” Mrs. Bennett cautioned, hurrying out herself to reckon the loss. “Yes; but I’m afraid my papa’s dead, he’s been gone so long.” How she hated that word “kid.”.