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“No, no, dear. Keep them, an’ I’ll put them in warter when we go to the house,” begged Betty. “The fairies are orful cross when they see dead flowers lyin’ round. Mebbe they might be too angry to come in the garding again ever.” Billy didn’t wait. Like all generous natures that are slow to anger, the passion once aroused possessed him to madness. He raced down the turnpike, his face aflame. Ahead he could see the Dorrs’ horse and buggy standing near the fence. Jimmy was on the ground beside the Twins; and Billy saw the whip descend more than once before he arrived. Had he known it the blows were make-believe, for moral effect alone. Jimmy was giving a lesson that his Southern breeding made him think necessary, if painful. “An’ where did you hear it, my dear?” she queried, cautiously feeling her way..

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Mrs. Wopp was much too energetically engaged to enter into fuller argument. She busied herself preparing the tubs for rinsing, singing in a high tremolo, “Shall we gather at the river?” But he was not to be hindered. “It’s only a scratch, mother; you can fuss it up all you want to later; but you mustn’t stop me now!” He pulled away from her and bounded up the path. The basket piled high with snowy linen and cotton seemed almost to overflow the brim. Betty pressed the clothes down with her brown hands, while the complaining boy enlarged on the sordid details of that trying wash-day and on the manner in which his mother had teased him. The child’s sense of humor outbalanced even her sympathy and a peal of laughter rang out. Her laugh was a long delicious trill, as though a bird had dropped from the clouds singing still with the sunrise tangled in its notes. Moses paused long enough for a procession of commas and semicolons to pass by. Then seeing his disappointment in her apparent lack of sympathy, Betty hastened to console him. “Are you as old as us? We’re seven,” Vilette said a bit loftily, as she discovered herself taller than May Nell..