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“Take care ole boy, you’ll trip on yer lip in another minute.” 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. “Jimmy, can you stand?”.

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“That bunch with the tickets, them’s the refugees,” Billy whispered to Jean. “See? Mr. Patton’s talking to them. Mr. Brown’s going to take ’em to their places in his hack. I wonder which is ours. Jiminy! See how hard that poor little kid’s trying to bluff her tears!” “Yes, sister says he’s rare, Persian or something; but I guess he’s only a plain cat. He’s a lazy thing.” “I wathed theeth carroth mythelf, aint they lovely and red jutht like Motheth hair.” She was quite oblivious of the scornful glance bestowed on her by that outraged shock-headed youth. The hours passed in an uproar of fun. The table was dismantled, toys, tools, and dishes put away, and the feast had sped into the past..