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‘The antlered monarch of the waste “Come here Betty, till I clean yer face. Where is that boy Moses? I know he had a hand in this. Drat him anyhow,” said the incensed Mrs. Wopp. “You don’t catch Billy asleep,” said George, siding with the victorious..
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Conrad
Billy stooped to tie shoestrings already tidy; he was gaining time for thinking. “I reckon doing things you don’t like is work, and doing things you do like is play,” he explained, doubtfully. Now the band came up, a troop of boys in gorgeous uniforms made of red calico and tinsel paper. A drum and fife kept tolerable time; but the wheezy harmonicas and paper-covered combs, the tin horns and clanging triangles, quite “covered” any tune the fife attempted. Yet what matter? It was a joyful noise; and even the horses kept step to the valiant drum. The next day was spent in sight seeing but visions of neglected poultry and cows haunted the anxious housewife, and notwithstanding the expostulations of Moses they started home that evening. “Yes, when you and sister turn gray getting it out of me. No, I’m going to do real work that will earn money; and I’m going to take this never-get-enough grub-basket of mine to a table where my own hands have earned the grub.”.
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