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Outside the spring warmth and fragrance enfolded the children as a mantle, opening their hearts to each other. Billy showed his flock of pigeons, his white chickens and the house where they roosted and brought forth their fluffy broods. Old Bouncer barked and capered about them; and the little girl tried to decide which cat was the prettiest, white Flash watching for gophers in the green alfalfa, or Sir Thomas Katzenstein, his yellow mate, basking in the sun. “He isn’t yellow like any other cat I ever saw; he’s shaded so beautifully.” “An’ well I know who’s makin’ him stew an’ chomp. You needn’t try to deceive yer, Mar,” chided the knowing matron. “Put a li’l shoe-black on then an’ that’ll make me dark again,” advised Betty serenely..

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A haughty toss of the head was all the reply vouchsafed to this brotherly jibe. St. Elmo’s face brightened with intelligence. He broke into the story to give a graphic account of how a little yellow chicken of his sister’s had got “dwownded” in the pig-trough. Cautiously he crept nearer the door, stopping at each step to listen, to look again at the worker above. He was at the very corner of the house when voices sounded from within. He started, his breath coming quicker. He caught no words, but knew by the “ginger” in the tones that the speakers were angry. Shuffling steps came up the stairway and turned toward the rear. “Miss Gordon here, made me a harnsome lace yoke fer an underwaist, an’ give it to me fer my birthday,” volunteered Mrs. Wopp..