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“Come home to dinner with me, Mr. Zalhambra, you’ll p’raps find some folks there that will appreciate the dope you hand out.” Everything at the dinner table was in keeping to Betty’s eyes, from the translucent china cups to the dainty blown bubbles of confection served with ice-cream; all so fragile that even one of her small brown fingers might crush them. She laughed as she thought of the annihilating effect, should Moses appear. The ices and the angel cake and the concocted kisses of whiteof-egg confirmed in her mind the suspicion that her wonderful holiday was a dream. “So your name is Betty Wopp?” “I suppose you have a large farm, Mr. Wopp,” said Nell Gordon..
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In his anticipation of the Sunday afternoon treat in store for him, Moses dreamed all that night of little dark-skinned men running round after him with bowls of rice and jabbing him with chop-sticks. “Don’t stan’ there fillin’ the doorway like a bung in a barrel, Moses,” reprimanded Mrs. Wopp. “That boy’s gone clean petrified. Go an’ fetch the lamp, it air giftin’ so dark I can’t tell which is Glory an’ which is Miss Gordon.” The two riders, who were to be followed by the family in the democrat, set off at a gentle lope. Before them lay the Cedar Hills over which the moon was just rising sharply defining their wooded crests. They followed a trail well-known to Howard who had ridden the range, in this district for several years. Nell, though an eastern girl, was at home in the saddle having always been accustomed to riding. In answer to his wife’s reproof, Mr. Wopp almost roared, “Where’s the hammer? Gone hide an’ hair it is, like everythink else.”.
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