The Mornin'-Glory Girl

								

from bench to bench, followed by others with coffee pots. The
strenuous exercises of the evening, preceded in most cases by a long
ride or drive, had developed vigorous appetites and the viands were
disposed of with wonderful rapidity.
“Aint it amazin’ how hungry one gits,” hoarsely remarked Mr. Wopp who
had not spoken for some time owing to close application to the task in
hand. “Lize, I want a piece of that punkin pie of yourn.” Here he
caressed the bulging buttons on his waistcoat. “My mouth’s waterin’
fer it an’ I b’lieve I hev room.”
“Moses, here with that pie,” called the gratified Mrs. Wopp, “Yer par
wants some.”
Moses came bearing an achievement of spicy, opaque amber supported and
surrounded by tantalizing, toast-brown crust. Before the expectant Mr.
Wopp, however, had time to note these details, there was a quick rush
of a small black and white object, a crash, some ear-splitting howls,
as Moses, pie, Jethro, and one of Mrs. Wopp’s best blue dinner plates
were precipitated against Mr. Wopp’s legs. Down his Sunday trousers
meandered a yellow glacier which Mrs. Wopp regarded with dismay.
“Moses, yer as useless as the hole in a doughnut; here quick gimme yer
handkerchief till I mop up yer Par.”
Vigorously cleaning up the still bewildered victim, Mrs. Wopp hurled
fresh orders.
“Don’t stan’ starin’ there like Betty’s chiner doll, go git another of
my pies.”
This time Moses was more successful. Comforted, he felt he could enjoy
a few morsels himself. Calling the contrite Jethro, who, after
extricating himself from the ruins he had made, had retired under a
bench, the boy made his way to a remote corner. Here no parental
admonitions would disturb him. He surveyed with pleased expectancy an
enormous triangle of pie, a huge slab of gingerbread, a monument of
glistening iced cake, half a dozen tarts, and a few other trifles he
had brought with him.
Supper over and dishes hurried out of sight, the floor was once more
cleared and the real business of the evening was resumed.
“Come on Betty, you haven’t had a dance this evening. It isn’t fair
for the grownups to have all the fun,” invited Howard Eliot.
“Oh, I was havin’ lots of fun watchin’ the dancin’,” returned Betty
rising with childish alacrity. The wistful look that belied her words
disappeared like magic.
“Aint Miss Gordon a lovely dancer?” she interrogated, “and aint she
lovely herself? I’ve been watollin’ you an’ her dance all evenin’.
Moses says he’s almost wore out one eye lookin’ at you both. He says
he don’t go in strong fer teachers, but he thinks Miss Gordon is worth
an eyestrain anyways.”
Betty was trying to keep up the engaging flow of talk but the dance
proved to require all her attention.
A grey light began to be visible through the windows. Whereupon horse
blankets were pressed into service and the accusing daylight was shut