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“I couldn’t understand it then. Now I do. My own sister is that bravest of lovers.” His words rang with pride as well as love. “She’s been stolen, mother! But I’ll find her—I know where to look. Don’t be afraid, mother, I will find her!” he repeated with grave emphasis, as he whipped out his knife and cut the dog loose. Still no St. Elmo. They proceeded a considerable distance down the creek..
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“Oh Miss Gordon,” cried Betty, her dark brown eyes sparkling with delight, “the flowers can talk to each other across them telfone wires, can’t they?” He threw himself on the bed and wept the bitterest tears he had ever shed in his life, tears of shame. There he lay—hours, he thought—determined to bear his pain and disgrace alone. Yet it was only minutes when he heard his mother in her room, coming! “Say, little kid, what’s your name?” he asked, merrily, as he routed a great white cat from his own chair and placed it before the fire for the child. “Come, Jethro, Betty’ll carry her li’l white puppykins, pore li’l footsy’s so sore.”.
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