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“No matter, Billy. I think she was sent to us; and we shall find a way. Are the chickens fed?”,
The child seeing the twinkle in the older eyes, laughed aloud; and, wrapped in a voluminous apron, began the first task that had ever left its stain on her pretty fingers.,
“Please don’t call Jimmy ‘Sour,’” May Nell pleaded. “He’s big and dark and splendid; and his other name is going to be Roderick Dhu; and he’ll be kind to all weak things, and fight for the Douglases, and for the Fair Ellen.” She waved her hand toward the steamboat.,
Al Newman took him by the arm, “We’ll have to leave for the show in eight minutes old boy, just a little funeral of your own now.”
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Billy had been reeling off stanzas of his favorite “Lady of the Lake,”—“by the yard,” Mrs. Bennett said, acting it as he recited, somewhat retarding the work and endangering the dishes. Now he dropped his towel, caught up his mother and raced with her around the room. He was so strong that she was almost helpless in his grasp.,
“A new kind of hen,” retorted Moses.,
“You can search me.” Billy was about to remark further, when a commotion arose among the school children just passing on their way home.,
They were a happy lot. Each held some high-sounding position, the name coined in Billy’s busy brain. His box of abused tools came forth; the much mended wheelbarrow, picks, shovels wobbly from use as well as abuse, improvised things that only an imagination as large as Billy’s could have named tools,—something for each one there.
“P’raps I’ll hinder more than help,” Howard answered, grasping Mrs. Wopp’s outstretched hand and looking questioningly at Nell.
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Billy took no heed of time till he saw the man above shoulder his hoe, pick up his wine jug, and start down the hill. At that Billy’s heels grew swift. He scurried out of his hiding place, slipped rapidly through the brush, found his wheel, and bowled off. No languor or heaviness now in body or mind. Every atom of him was alert as on the night of the opera, yet not so normally alert; for the evil atmosphere of the place was in his soul, filling his teeming brain with imaginings of many crimes.
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>And that night after school, when May Nell’s little wardrobe was all packed,—not without a slight baptism of Edith’s tears,—and waiting for the morning train, Mr. Smith came in and put a ceremonious looking document into Billy’s hand.
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