“No more, kitties; that’s all that is good for you. Go back to your chair.”
They looked at her a minute, dropped reluctantly to the floor, and retired.
“Why, they know what you say—mind!” May Nell exclaimed, admiringly.
“Obedience, thy name is cats,” Billy preached solemnly.
It had stopped raining, but was still cloudy. This was the hour when Billy usually wheeled long miles by himself, dreaming dreams no one but a boy knows how to dream. Nothing short of a downpour ever hindered him; thus mother and sister knew it was genuine self-sacrifice that kept him beside the little girl through the long afternoon.
All his treasures, pictures, marbles, mineral specimens, what not, were displayed and explained. And finally came the books, when Billy discovered that she knew most of his favorites, loved them as he did, and could introduce him to new ones that promised delight.
So the hours passed. The two women had their quiet rest till five o’clock when they came down for the usual singing. May Nell had a sweet voice, surprisingly strong for a child; and when she asked to play her own accompaniment to a little song unknown to Edith, the latter was surprised by the child’s skill, and still more by her rare feeling and expression.
“I can dance, too,” she said with childish pride.
“Sister, she’ll be hunkey for the fairy queen in your Spring Festival, won’t she? She’s a regular progidy, isn’t she?” Billy’s eyes shone.
“Can he mean ‘prodigy,’ do you think, May Nell?” Edith’s eyes were mischievous.