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“I’m chored from mornin’ till night, an’ arfter I go to sleep I do some more chorin’ jist to keep my hand in.” Moses was in a distinctly peevish mood. Betty said her prayers that night before her cyclamen. It seemed to her a “mornin’-glory that had been growed by an angel, its petals sparkled so, an’ it smelled so pure.” She breathed very softly her thanksgiving, with a vague feeling that it had wings and could find its way better than she knew. “Don’t Job look jist like Mariar Mifsud goin’ to meetin’,” gurgled Betty..

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The energetic Mrs. Wopp had accompanied her commands to Moses by a wide sweeping of arms, and from these ample arms had billowed yards of sheeting to cover from the ruinous soot her treasured parlor possessions. The sound was an ominous warning to Moses, to finish his breakfast with all possible speed. Sprang from his heathery couch in haste’?” “That’s for Billy’s cats; mine need none,” Edith declared..