“Not arf as smart as a magpie,” dissented Moses, “I’ve saw magpies that c’d think up the scheminest things.” Moses was beginning to suffer from a surfeit of information and wanted to make a break in the proceedings.
“Better quit tarlkin’, Moses, an’ let the picter show go on so’s we kin hev supper, everythin’s laid an’ ready.”
Mrs. Wopp’s suggestion had an immediate and salutary effect on the boy.
“This peacock,” went on Betty, showing the picture of a bird with plumed tail outspread, “is the white peacock of the moon. It lives in the moon, but when fairies want to come to play with li’l girls, they harness the peacock an’ drive down to earth in a silver chariot.”
The pictures that followed were of fairies and sprites irresistible to childish minds.
Through the Stygian darkness of the loft loomed the figure of Mrs. Wopp, a white apron of huge dimensions indicating her presence. She made as though to descend the ladder.
“Did you see the fine bin of carrots, Mar?” inquired Betty.
“Yes, I seen them an’ smelt them, too; they shore ’d delight the heart of an Eskermo, Betty.”
“How much will you pay fer them fer my missionary box?” bargained the child. “Will four shinin’ new quarters do?”
“O, Mar, won’t the heathens’ faces shine, too!” exclaimed Betty, joyously, as the coins slipped into her box with an opulent clatter.