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To his mother and sister Billy seemed changed. He stuck closer to his books. His teacher told them the boy stood at the head of his class. “Jimmy Dorr may be a rival if he feels like work, which isn’t probable. Jean’s accident last year put her behind, otherwise the boys would have to work much harder if either excelled her.” Yet even these welcome words did not account for some things the mother quietly observed; Billy’s growing promptness, better attention, and memory for matters outside of play. He was more silent, too; and there was less hammering and whistling in the shop. “Moses Habakuk Ezra Wopp an’ Ebenezer Wopp! You’d orter be shamed of yerselves. You shorely must of fell with Lucifer when he come tumblin’ outer the sky. Them swear words make every single hair on my head stan’ on edge.” The perturbed lady wisely let the question pass not being absolutely clear herself as to the operation involved in the casting of lots. She hastened to take up the thread of the story..

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Billy laughed. “Mixed again, mamma. This is Vilette,” he drew one bashful little girl nearer the stranger, “and this is Evelyn, Echo, we call her.” “Please, Mister, my nose was bleedin’ an’ I lorst my way lookin’ fer warter, an’ here I am on Jording’s stormy banks.” “That big sand pile the kids made last week for a fort can be the Sierras, and we’ll tunnel, and have a loop, and—” Mrs. Wopp was an incurable optimist, although the citadel of her optimism was being assailed. Turning her wrathful gaze from Moses, her eye lighted on the soiled pink hat and antimacassar still worn by Job. She burst into a hearty laugh and turned to Betty..