Merton, to break the ice more fully, offered to show him his gun, which he had kept within reach ever since we left the boat. It made him feel more like a pioneer, no doubt. As he took it from its stout cloth cover I saw John junior's eyes sparkle. Evidently a deep chord was touched. He said, excitedly: "To-day's your time to try it. A rabbit can't stir without leaving his tracks, and the snow is so deep and soft that he can't get away. There's rabbits on your own place."

"O papa," cried my boy, fairly trembling with eagerness, "can't I go?"

"I need you very much this morning."

"But, papa, others will be out before me, and I may lose my chance;" and he was half ready to cry.

"Yes," I said; "there is a risk of that. Well, YOU shall decide in this case," I added, after a moment, seeing a chance to do a little character-building. "It is rarely best to put pleasure before business or prudence. If you go out into the snow with those boots, you will spoil them, and very probably take a severe cold. Yet you may go if you will. If you help me we can be back by ten o'clock, and I will get you a pair of rubber boots as we return."

"Will there be any chance after ten o'clock?" he asked, quickly.

"Well," said John junior, in his matter-of-fact way, "that depends. As your pa says, there's a risk."

The temptation was too strong for the moment. "O dear!" exclaimed Merton, "I may never have so good a chance again. The snow will soon melt, and there won't be any more till next winter. I'll tie my trousers down about my boots, and I'll help all the rest of the day after I get back."

"Very well," I said quietly: and he began eating his breakfast—the abundant remains of our last night's lunch—very rapidly, while John junior started off to get his gun.

I saw that Merton was ill at ease, but I made a sign to his mother not to interfere. More and more slowly he finished his breakfast, then took his gun and went to the room that would be his, to load and prepare. At last he came down and went out by another door, evidently not wishing to encounter me. John junior met him, and the boys were starting, when John senior drove into the yard and shouted, "John junior, step here a moment."

The boy returned slowly, Merton following. "You ain't said nothin' to me about goin' off with that gun," continued Mr. Jones, severely.

"Well, Merton's pa said he might go if he wanted to, and I had to go along to show him."

"That first shot wasn't exactly straight, my young friend John. I told Merton that it wasn't best to put pleasure before business, but that he could go if he would. I wished to let him choose to do right, instead of making him do right."

"Oho, that's how the land lays. Well, John junior, you can have your choice, too. You may go right on with your gun, but you know the length and weight of that strap at home. Now, will you help me? or go after rabbits?"

The boy grinned pleasantly, and replied, "If you had said I couldn't go, I wouldn't; but if it's choosin' between shootin' rabbits and a strappin' afterward—come along, Merton."

"Well, go along then," chuckled his father; "you've made your bargain square, and I'll keep my part of it."

"Oh, hang the rabbits! You shan't have any strapping on my account," cried Merton; and he carried his gun resolutely to his room and locked the door on it.

John junior quietly went to the old barn, and hid his gun.

"Guess I'll go with you, pa," he said, joining us.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Jones. "It was a good bargain to back out of. Come now, let's all be off as quick as we can. Neighbor Rollins down the road will join us as we go along."

"Merton," I said, "see if there isn't a barrel of apples in the cellar. If you find one, you can fill your pockets."

He soon returned with bulging pockets and a smiling face, feeling that such virtue as he had shown had soon brought reward. My wife said that while we were gone she and the children would explore the house and plan how to arrange everything. We started in good spirits.

"Here's where you thought you was cast away last night," Mr. Jones remarked, as we passed out of the lane.

The contrast made by a few short hours was indeed wonderful. Then, in dense obscurity, a tempest had howled and shrieked about us; now, in the unclouded sunshine, a gemmed and sparkling world revealed beauty everywhere.

For a long distance our sleighs made the first tracks, and it seemed almost a pity to sully the purity of the white, drift-covered road.

"What a lot of mud's hid under this snow!" was John Jones's prose over the opening vistas. "What's more, it will show itself before night. We can beat all creation at mud in Maizeville, when once we set about it."

Merton laughed, and munched his apples, but I saw that he was impressed by winter scenery such as he had never looked upon before. Soon, however, he and John junior were deep in the game question, and I noted that the latter kept a sharp lookout along the roadside. Before long, while passing a thicket, he shouted, "There's tracks," and floundered out into the snow, Merton following.

"Oh, come back," growled his father.

"Let the boys have a few moments," I said. "They gave up this morning about as well as you could expect of boys. Would Junior have gone and taken a strapping if Merton hadn't returned?"

"Yes, indeed he would, and he knows my strappin's are no make- believe. That boy has no sly, mean tricks to speak of, but he's as tough and obstinate as a mule sometimes, especially about shooting and fishing. See him now a-p'intin' for that rabbit, like a hound."

True enough, the boy was showing good woodcraft. Restraining Merton, he cautiously approached the tracks, which by reason of the lightness and depth of the snow were not very distinct.

"He can't be far away," said Junior, excitedly. "Don't go too fast till I see which way he was a-p'intin'. We don't want to follow the tracks back, but for'ard. See, he came out of that old wall there, he went to these bushes and nibbled some twigs, and here he goes— here he went—here—here—yes, he went into the wall again just here. Now, Merton, watch this hole while I jump over the other side of the fence and see if he comes out again. If he makes a start, grab him."

John Jones and I were now almost as excited as the boys, and Mr. Rollins, the neighbor who was following us, was standing up in his sleigh to see the sport. It came quickly. As if by some instinct the rabbit believed Junior to be the more dangerous, and made a break from the wall almost at Merton's feet, with such swiftness and power as to dash by him like a shot. The first force of its bound over, it was caught by nature's trap—snow too deep and soft to admit of rapid running.

John Jones soon proved that Junior came honestly by his passion for hunting. In a moment he was floundering through the bushes with his son and Merton. In such pursuit of game my boy had the advantage, for he was as agile as a cat. But a moment or two elapsed before he caught up with the rabbit, and threw himself upon it, then rose, white as a snow-man, shouting triumphantly and holding the little creature aloft by its ears.

"Never rate Junior for hunting again," I said, laughingly, to Mr. Jones. "He's a chip of the old block."

"I rather guess he is," my neighbor acknowledged, with a grin. "I own up I used to be pretty hot on such larkin'. We all keep forgettin' we was boys once."

As we rode on, Merton was a picture of exultation, and Junior was on the sharp lookout again. His father turned on him and said: "Now look a' here, enough's as good as a feast. I'll blindfold you if you don't let the tracks alone. Mrs. Durham wants her things, so she can begin to live. Get up there;" and a crack of the whip ended all further hopes on the part of the boys. But they felt well repaid for coming, and Merton assured Junior that he deserved half the credit, for only he knew how to manage the hunt.



CHAPTER XV

OUR SUNNY KITCHEN

Before we reached the landing I had invested a goodly sum in four pairs of rubber boots, for I knew how hopeless it would be to try to keep Winnie and Bobsey indoors. As for Mousie, she would have to be prudent until the ground should become dry and warm.

There is no need of dwelling long on the bringing home of our effects and the getting to rights. We were back soon after ten, and found that Winnie and Bobsey, having exhausted the resources of the house, had been permitted to start at the front door, and, with an old fire-shovel and a piece of board, had well-nigh completed a path to the well, piling up the snow as they advanced, so that their overshoes were a sufficient protection.

After we had carried in the things I interceded with Mr. Jones and then told the boys that they could take their guns and be absent two or three hours if they would promise to help faithfully the rest of the day.

I had bought at Maizeville Landing such provisions, tools, etc., as I should need immediately. Therefore I did not worry because the fickle March sky was clouding up again with the promise of rain. A heavy downpour now with snow upon the ground would cause almost a flood, but I felt that we could shut the door and find the old house a very comfortable ark.

"A smart warm rain would be the best thing that could happen to yer," said Mr. Jones, as he helped me carry in furniture and put up beds; "it would take the snow off. Nat'rally you want to get out on the bare ground, for there's allus a lot of clearin' up to be done in the spring and old man Jamison was poorly last year and didn't keep things up to the mark."

"Yes," I replied, "I am as eager to get to work outdoors as the boys were to go after rabbits. I believe I shall like the work, but that is not the question. I did not come to the country to amuse myself, like so many city people. I don't blame them; I wish I could afford farming for fun. I came to earn a living for my wife and children, and I am anxious to be about it. I won't ask you for anything except advice. I've only had a city training, and my theories about farming would perhaps make you smile. But I've seen enough of you already to feel that you are inclined to be kind and neighborly, and the best way to show this will be in helping me to good, sound, practical, common-sense advice. But you mustn't put on airs, or be impatient with me. Shrewd as you are, I could show you some things in the city."

"Oh, I'd be a sight queerer there than you here. I see your p'int, and if you'll come to me I won't let you make no blunders I wouldn't make myself. Perhaps that ain't saying a great deal, though."

By this time everything had been brought in and either put in place or stowed out of the way, until my wife could decide where and how she would arrange things.

"Now," I said, when we had finished, "carry out our agreement."

Mr. Jones gave me a wink and drove away.

Our agreement was this—first, that he and Mr. Rollins, the owner of the other team, should be paid in full before night; and second, that Mrs. Jones should furnish us our dinner, in which the chief dish should be a pot-pie from the rabbit caught by Merton, and that Mr. Jones should bring everything over at one o'clock.

My wife was so absorbed in unpacking her china, kitchen-utensils, and groceries that she was unaware of the flight of time, but at last she suddenly exclaimed, "I declare it's dinner-time!"

"Not quite yet," I said; "dinner will be ready at one."

"It will? Oh, indeed! Since we are in the country we are to pick up what we can, like the birds. You intend to invite us all down to the apple barrel, perhaps."

"Certainly, whenever you wish to go; but we'll have a hot dinner at one o'clock, and a game dinner into the bargain."

"I've heard the boys' guns occasionally, but I haven't seen the game, and it's after twelve now."

"Papa has a secret—a surprise for us," cried Mousie; "I can see it in his eyes."

"Now, Robert, I know what you've been doing. You have asked Mrs. Jones to furnish a dinner. You are extravagant, for I could have picked up something that would have answered."

"No; I've been very prudent in saving your time and strength, and saving these is sometimes the best economy in the world. Mousie is nearer right. The dinner is a secret, and it has been furnished chiefly by one of the family."

"Well, I'm too busy to guess riddles to-day; but if my appetite is a guide, it is nearly time we had your secret."

"You would not feel like that after half an hour over a hot stove. Now you will be interrupted, in getting to rights, only long enough to eat your dinner. Then Mousie and Merton and Winnie will clear up everything, and be fore night you will feel settled enough to take things easy till to-morrow."

"I know your thoughtfulness for me, if not your secret," she said, gratefully, and was again putting things where, from housewifely experience, she knew they would be handy.

Mr. and Mrs. Jamison had clung to their old-fashioned ways, and had done their cooking over the open fire, using the swinging crane which is now employed chiefly in pictures. This, for the sake of the picture it made, we proposed to keep as it had been left, although at times it might answer some more prosaic purpose.

At the eastern end of the house was a single room, added unknown years ago, and designed to be a bed-chamber. Of late it had been used as a general storage and lumber room, and when I first inspected the house, I had found little in this apartment of service to us. So I had asked Mr. Jones to remove all that I did not care for, and to have the room cleansed, satisfied that it would just suit my wife as a kitchen. It was large, having windows facing the east and south, and therefore it would be light and cheerful, as a kitchen ever should be, especially when the mistress of the house is cook. There Mr. Jones and I set up the excellent stove that I had brought from New York—one to which my wife was accustomed, and from which she could conjure a rare good dinner when she gave her mind to it. Now as she moved back and forth, in such sunlight as the clouding sky permitted, she appeared the picture of pleased content.

"It cheers one up to enter a kitchen like this," she said.

"It is to be your garden for a time also," I exclaimed to Mousie. "I shall soon have by this east window a table with shallow boxes of earth, and in them you can plant some of your flower-seeds. I only ask that I may have two of the boxes for early cabbages, lettuce, tomatoes, etc. You and your plants can take a sun-bath every morning until it is warm, enough to go out of doors, and you'll find the plants won't die here as they did in the dark, gas-poisoned city flat."

"I feel as if I were going to grow faster and stronger than the plants," cried the happy child.

Junior and Merton now appeared, each carrying a rabbit. My boy's face, however, was clouded, and he said, a little despondently, "I can't shoot straight—missed every time; and Junior shot 'em after I had fired and missed."

"Pshaw!" cried Junior; "Merton's got to learn to take a quick steady sight, like every one else. He gets too excited."

"That's just it, my boy," I said. "You shall go down by the creek and fire at a mark a few times every day, and you'll soon hit it every time. Junior's head is too level to think that anything can be done well without practice. Now, Junior," I added, "run over home and help your father bring us our dinner, and then you stay and help us eat it."

Father and son soon appeared, well laden. Winnie and Bobsey came in ravenous from their path-making, and all agreed that we had already grown one vigorous rampant Maizeville crop—an appetite.

The pot-pie was exulted over, and the secret of its existence explained. Even Junior laughed till the tears came as I described him, his father, and Merton, floundering through the deep snow after the rabbit, and we all congratulated Merton as the one who had provided our first country dinner.



CHAPTER XVI

MAKING A PLACE FOR CHICKENS

Before the meal was over, I said, seriously, "Now, boys, there must be no more hunting until I find out about the game-laws. They should be obeyed, especially by sportsmen. I don't think that we are forbidden to kill rabbits on our own place, particularly when they threaten to be troublesome; and the hunt this morning was so unexpected that I did not think of the law, which might be used to make us trouble. You killed the other rabbits on this place, Junior?"

"Yes, sir, both of 'em."

"Well, hereafter you must look after hawks, and other enemies of poultry. Especially do I hope you will never fire at our useful song-birds. If boys throughout the country would band together to protect game when out of season, they would soon have fine sport in the autumn."

In the afternoon we let Winnie and Bobsey expend their energy in making paths and lanes in every direction through the snow, which was melting rapidly in the south wind. By three o'clock the rain began to fall, and when darkness set in there was a gurgling sound of water on every side. Our crackling fire made the warmth and comfort within seem tenfold more cheery.

A hearty supper, prepared in our own kitchen, made us feel that our home machinery had fairly started, and we knew that it would run more and more smoothly. March was keeping up its bad name for storm and change. The wind was again roaring, but laden now with rain, and in gusty sheets the heavy drops dashed against the windows. But our old house kept us dry and safe, although it rocked a little in the blasts. They soon proved a lullaby for our second night at home.

After breakfast the following morning, with Merton, Winnie, and Bobsey, I started out to see if any damage had been done. The sky was still clouded, but the rain had ceased. Our rubber boots served us well, for the earth was like an over-full sponge, while down every little incline and hollow a stream was murmuring.

The old barn showed the need of a good many nails to be driven here and there, and a deal of mending. Then it would answer for corn- stalks and other coarse fodder. The new barn had been fairly built, and the interior was dry. It still contained as much hay as would be needed for the keeping of a horse and cow until the new crop should be harvested.

"Papa," cried Winnie, "where is the chicken place?"

"That is one of the questions we must settle at once," I replied. "As we were coming out I saw an old coop in the orchard. We'll go and look at it."

It was indeed old and leaky, and had poultry been there the previous night they would have been half drowned on their perches. "This might do for a summer cottage for your chickens, Winnie," I continued, "but never for a winter house. Let us go back to the barn, for I think I remember a place that will just suit, with some changes."

Now the new barn had been built on a hillside, and had an ample basement, from which a room extending well into the bank had been partitioned, thus promising all one could desire as a cellar for apples and roots. The entrance to this basement faced the east, and on each side of it was a window. To the right of the entrance were two cow-stalls, and to the left was an open space half full of mouldy corn-stalks and other rubbish.

"See here, Winnie and Merton," I said, after a little examination, "I think we could clear out this space on the left, partition it off, make a door, and keep the chickens here. After that window is washed, a good deal of sunlight can come in. I've read that in cold weather poultry need warmth and light, and must be kept dry. Here we can secure all these conditions. Having a home for ourselves, suppose we set to work to make a home for the chickens."

This idea delighted Winnie, and pleased Merton almost as much as hunting rabbits. "Now," I resumed, "we will go to the house and get what we need for the work."

"Winifred," I said to my wife, "can you let Winnie have a small pail of hot water and some old rags?"

"What are you up to now?"

"You know all about cleaning house; we are going to clean barn, and make a place for Winnie's chickens. There is a window in their future bedroom—roost-room I suppose I should call it—that looks as if it had never been washed, and to get off the dust of years will be Winnie's task, while Merton, Bobsey, and I create an interior that should satisfy a knowing hen. We'll make nests, too, children, that will suggest to the biddies that they should proceed at once to business."

"But where are the chickens to come from?" my wife asked, as she gave the pan to Merton to carry for his sister.

"Oh, John Jones will put me in the way of getting them soon;" and we started out to our morning's work. Mousie looked after us wistfully, but her mother soon found light tasks for her, and she too felt that she was helping. "Remember, Mousie," I said, in parting, "that I have three helpers, and surely mamma needs one;" and she was content.

Merton at first was for pitching all the old corn-stalks out into the yard, but I said: "That won't do. We shall need a cow as well as chickens, and these stalks must be kept dry for her bedding. We'll pile them up in the inner empty stall. You can help at that, Bobsey;" and we set to work.

Under Winnie's quick hands more and more light came through the window. With a fork I lifted and shook up the stalks, and the boys carried them to the empty stall. At last we came to rubbish that was so damp and decayed that it would be of no service indoors, so we placed it on a barrow and I wheeled it out to one corner of the yard. At last we came down to a hard earth floor, and with a hoe this was cleared and made smooth.

"Merton," I said, "I saw an old broom upstairs. Run and get it, and we'll brush down the cobwebs and sweep out, and then we shall be ready to see about the partition."



CHAPTER XVII

GOOD BARGAINS IN MAPLE SUGAR

By eleven o'clock we had all the basement cleaned except the one cow-stall that was filled to the ceiling with litter; and Winnie had washed the windows. Then John Jones's lank figure darkened the doorway, and he cried, "Hello, neighbor, what ye drivin' at?"

"Look around and see, and then tell us where to get a lot of chickens."

"Well, I declare! How you've slicked things up! You're not goin' to scrub the dirt floor, are you? Well, well, this looks like business— just the place for chickens. Wonder old man Jamison didn't keep 'em here; but he didn't care for fowls. Now I think of it, there's to be a vandoo the first of the week, and there was a lot o' chickens printed on the poster."

I smiled.

"Oh, I don't mean that the chickens themselves was on the poster, but a statement that a lot would be sold at auction. I'll bid 'em in for you if they're a good lot. If you, a city chap, was to bid, some straw-bidder would raise 'em agin you. I know what they're wuth, and everybody there'll know I do, and they'll try no sharp games with me."

"That will suit me exactly, Mr. Jones. I don't want any game-fowls of that kind."

"Ha, ha! I see the p'int. Have you looked into the root-cellar?"

"Yes; we opened the door and looked, but it was dark as a pocket."

"Well, I don't b'lieve in matches around a barn, but I'll show you something;" and he opened the door, struck a match, and, holding it aloft, revealed a heap of turnips, another of carrots, five barrels of potatoes, and three of apples. The children pounced upon the last with appetites sharpened by their morning's work.

"You see," resumed Mr. Jones, "these were here when old man Jamison died. If I hadn't sold the place I should have taken them out before long, and got rid of what I didn't want. Now you can have the lot at a low figure," which he named.

"I'll take them," I said, promptly.

"The carrots make it look like a gold-mine," cried Merton.

"Well, you're wise," resumed Mr. Jones. "You'll have to get a cow and a horse, and here's fodder for 'em handy. Perhaps I can pick 'em out for you, too, at the vandoo. You can go along, and if anything strikes your fancy I'll bid on it."

"O papa," cried the children, in chorus, "can we go with you to the vandoo?"

"Yes, I think so. When does the sale take place?"

"Next Tuesday. That's a good breed of potatoes. Jamison allus had the best of everything. They'll furnish you with seed, and supply your table till new ones come. I guess you could sell a barrel or so of apples at a rise."

"I've found a market for them already. Look at these children; and I'm good for half a barrel myself if they don't decay too soon. Where could we find better or cheaper food? All the books say that apples are fattening."

"That's true of man and beast, if the books do say it. They'll keep in this cool, dark cellar longer than you'd think—longer than you'll let 'em, from the way they're disappearin'. I guess I'll try one."

"Certainly, a dozen, just as if they were still yours."

"They wasn't mine—they belonged to the Jamison estate. I'll help myself now quicker'n I would before. I might come it over a live man, you know, but not a dead one."

"I'd trust you with either."

While I was laughing at this phase of honesty, he resumed: "This is the kind of place to keep apples—cool, dry, dark, even temperature. Why, they're as crisp and juicy as if just off the trees. I came over to make a suggestion. There's a lot of sugar-maple trees on your place, down by the brook. Why not tap 'em, and set a couple of pots b'ilin' over your open fire? You'd kill two birds with one stone; the fire'd keep you warm, and make a lot of sugar in the bargain. I opinion, too, the children would like the fun."

They were already shouting over the idea, but I said dubiously, "How about the pails to catch the sap?"

"Well," said Mr. Jones, "I've thought of that. We've a lot of spare milk-pails and pans, that we're not usin'. Junior understands the business; and, as we're not very busy, he can help you and take his pay in sugar."

The subject of poultry was forgotten; and the children scampered off to the house to tell of this new project.

Before Mr. Jones and I left the basement, he said: "You don't want any partition here at present, only a few perches for the fowls. There's a fairish shed, you remember, in the upper barnyard, and when 'tain't very cold or stormy the cow will do well enough there from this out. The weather'll be growin' milder 'most every day, and in rough spells you can put her in here. Chickens won't do her any harm. Law sakes! when the main conditions is right, what's the use of havin' everything jes' so? It's more important to save your time and strength and money. You'll find enough to do without one stroke that ain't needful." Thus John Jones fulfilled his office of mentor.



CHAPTER XVIII

BUTTERNUTS AND BOBSEY'S PERIL

I restrained the children until after dinner, which my wife hastened. By that time Junior was on hand with a small wagon-load of pails and pans.

"Oh, dear, I wanted you to help me this afternoon," my wife had said, but, seeing the dismayed look on the children's faces, had added, "Well, there's no hurry, I suppose. We are comfortable, and we shall have stormy days when you can't be out."

I told her that she was wiser than the queen of Sheba and did not need to go to Solomon.

The horse was put in the barn, for he would have mired in the long spongy lane and the meadow which we must cross. So we decided to run the light wagon down by hand.

Junior had the auger with which to bore holes in the trees. "I tapped 'em last year, as old Mr. Jamison didn't care about doin' it," said the boy, "an' I b'iled the pot of sap down in the grove; but that was slow, cold work. I saved the little wooden troughs I used last year, and they are in one of the pails. I brought over a big kittle, too, which mother let me have, and if we can keep this and yours a-goin', we'll soon have some sugar."

Away we went, down the lane, Junior and Merton in the shafts, playing horses. I pushed in some places, and held back in others, while Winnie and Bobsey picked their way between puddles and quagmires. The snow was so nearly gone that it lay only on the northern slopes. We had heard the deep roar of the Moodna Creek all the morning, and had meant to go and see it right after breakfast; but providing a chickenhome had proved a greater attraction to the children, and a better investment of time for me. Now from the top of the last hillside we saw a great flood rushing by with a hoarse, surging noise.

"Winnie, Bobsey, if you go near the water without me you march straight home," I cried.

They promised never to go, but I thought Bobsey protested a little too much. Away we went down the hill, skirting what was now a good- sized brook. I knew the trees, from a previous visit; and the maple, when once known, can be picked out anywhere, so genial, mellow, and generous an aspect has it, even when leafless.

The roar of the creek and the gurgle of the brook made genuine March music, and the children looked and acted as if there were nothing left to be desired. When Junior showed them a tree that appeared to be growing directly out of a flat rock, they expressed a wonder which no museum could have excited.

But scenery, and even rural marvels, could not keep their attention long. All were intent on sap and sugar, and Junior was speedily at work. The moment he broke the brittle, juicy bark, the tree's life- blood began to flow.

"See," he cried, "they are like cows wanting to be milked."

As fast as he inserted his little wooden troughs into the trees, we placed pails and pans under them, and began harvesting the first crop from our farm.

This was rather slow work, and to keep Winnie and Bobsey busy I told them they could gather sticks and leaves, pile them up at the foot of a rock on a dry hillside, and we would have a fire. I meanwhile picked up the dead branches that strewed the ground, and with my axe trimmed them for use in summer, when only a quick blaze would be needed to boil the supper kettle. To city-bred eyes wood seemed a rare luxury, and although there was enough lying about to supply us for a year, I could not get over the feeling that it must all be cared for.

To children there are few greater delights than that of building a fire in the woods, and on that cloudy, chilly day our blaze against the rock brought solid comfort to us all, even though the smoke did get into our eyes. Winnie and Bobsey, little bundles of energy that they were, seemed unwearied in feeding the flames, while Merton sought to hide his excitement by imitating Junior's stolid, business-like ways.

Finding him alone once, I said: "Merton, don't you remember saying to me once, 'I'd like to know what there is for a boy to do in this street'? Don't you think there's something for a boy to do on this farm?"

"O papa!" he cried, "I'm just trying to hold in. So much has happened, and I've had such a good time, that it seems as if I had been here a month; then again the hours pass like minutes. See, the sun is low already."

"It's all new and exciting now, Merton, but there will be long hours—yes, days and weeks—when you'll have to act like a man, and to do work because it ought to be done and must be done."

"The same would be true if we stayed in town," he said.

Soon I decided that it was time for the younger children to return, for I meant to give my wife all the help I could before bedtime. We first hauled the wagon back, and then Merton said he would bring what sap had been caught. Junior had to go home for a time to do his evening "chores," but he promised to return before dark to help carry in the sap.

"There'll be frost to-night, and we'll get the biggest run in the morning," was his encouraging remark, as he made ready to depart.

Mrs. Jones had been over to see my wife, and they promised to become good friends. I set to work putting things in better shape, and bringing in a good pile of wood. Merton soon appeared with a brimming pail. A kettle was hung on the crane, but before the sap was placed over the fire all must taste it, just as it had been distilled by nature. And all were quickly satisfied. Even Mousie said it was "too watery," and Winnie made a face as she exclaimed, "I declare, Merton, I believe you filled the pails from the brook!"

"Patience, youngsters; sap, as well as some other things, is better for boiling down."

"Oh what a remarkable truth!" said my wife, who never lost a chance to give me a little dig.

I laughed, and then stood still in the middle of the floor, lost in thought.

"A brown study! What theory have you struck now, Robert?"

"I was thinking how some women kept their husbands in love with them by being saucy. It's an odd way, and yet it seems effective."

"It depends upon the kind of sauce, Robert," she said with a knowing glance and a nod.

By the time it was dark, we had both the kettles boiling and bubbling over the fire, and fine music they made. With Junior for guest, we enjoyed our supper, which consisted principally of baked apples and milk.

"'Bubble, bubble,' 'Toil' and no 'trouble'—"

"Yet, worth speaking of," said my wife; "but it must come, I suppose."

"We won't go half-way to meet it, Winifred."

When the meal was over, Junior went out on the porch and returned with a mysterious sack.

"Butternuts!" he ejaculated.

Junior was winning his way truly, and in the children's eyes was already a good genius, as his father was in mine.

"O papa!" was the general cry, "can't we crack them on the hearth?"

"But you'll singe your very eyebrows off," I said.

"Mine's so white 'twouldn't matter," said Junior; "nobody'd miss 'em. Give me a hammer, and I'll keep you goin'."

And he did, on one of the stones of the hearth, with such a lively rat-tat-snap! that it seemed a regular rhythm.

"Cracked in my life well-nigh on to fifty bushel, I guess," he explained, in answer to our wonder at his skill.

And so the evening passed, around the genial old fireplace; and before the children retired they smacked their lips over sirup sweet enough to satisfy them.

The following morning—Saturday—I vibrated between the sugar-camp and the barn and other out-buildings, giving, however, most of the time to the help of my wife in getting the house more to her mind, and in planning some work that would require a brief visit from a carpenter; for I felt that I must soon bestow nearly all my attention on the outdoor work. I managed to keep Bobsey under my eye for the most part, and in the afternoon I left him for only a few moments at the sugar-bush while I carried up some sap. A man called to see me on business, and I was detained. Knowing the little fellow's proneness to mischief, and forgetfulness of all commands, I at last hastened back with a half guilty and worried feeling.

I reached the brow of the hill just in time to see him throw a stick into the creek, lose his balance, and fall in.

With an exclamation of terror, his own cry forming a faint echo, I sprang forward frantically, but the swift current caught and bore him away.



CHAPTER XIX

JOHN JONES, JUN

My agonized shout as I saw Bobsey swept away by the swollen current of the Moodna Creek was no more prompt than his own shrill scream. It so happened, or else a kind Providence so ordered it, that Junior was further down the stream, tapping a maple that had been overlooked the previous day. He sprang to his feet, whirled around in the direction of the little boy's cry, with the quickness of thought rushed to the bank and plunged in with a headlong leap like a Newfoundland dog. I paused, spellbound, to watch him, knowing that I was much too far away to be of aid, and that all now depended on the hardy country lad. He disappeared for a second beneath the tide, and then his swift strokes proved that he was a good swimmer. In a moment or two he caught up with Bobsey, for the current was too swift to permit the child to sink. Then, with a wisdom resulting from experience, he let the torrent carry him in a long slant toward the shore, for it would have been hopeless to try to stem the tide. Running as I never ran before, I followed, reached the bank where there was an eddy in the stream, sprang in up to my waist, seized them both as they approached and dragged them to solid ground. Merton and Winnie meanwhile stood near with white, scared faces.

Bobsey was conscious, although he had swallowed some water, and I was soon able to restore him, so that he could stand on his feet and cry: "I—I—I w-won't d-do so any—any more."

Instead of punishing him, which he evidently expected, I clasped him to my heart with a nervous force that almost made him cry out with pain.

Junior, meanwhile, had coolly seated himself on a rock, emptied the water out of his shoes, and was tying them on again, at the same time striving with all his might to maintain a stolid composure under Winnie's grateful embraces and Merton's interrupting hand- shakings. But when, having become assured of Bobsey's safety, I rushed forward and embraced Junior in a transport of gratitude, his lip began to quiver and two great tears mingled with the water that was dripping from his hair. Suddenly he broke away, took to his heels, and ran toward his home, as if he had been caught in some mischief and the constable were after him. I believe that he would rather have had at once all the strappings his father had ever given him than to have cried in our presence.

I carried Bobsey home, and his mother, with many questionings and exclamations of thanksgiving, undressed the little fellow, wrapped him in flannel, and put him to bed, where he was soon sleeping as quietly as if nothing had happened.

Mrs. Jones came over, and we made her rubicund face beam and grow more round, if possible, as we all praised her boy. I returned with her, for I felt that I wished to thank Junior again and again. But he saw me coming, and slipped out at the back door. Indeed, the brave, bashful boy was shy of us for several days. When at last my wife got hold of him, and spoke to him in a manner natural to mothers, he pooh-poohed the whole affair.

"I've swum in that crick so often that it was nothin' to me. I only had to keep cool, and that was easy enough in snow water, and the swift current would keep us both up. I wish you wouldn't say anything more about it. It kinder makes me feel—I don't know how— all over, you know."

But Junior soon learned that we had adopted him into our inmost hearts, although he compelled us to show our good-will after his own off-hand fashion.

Sunday was ushered in with another storm, and we spent a long, quiet, restful day, our hearts full of thankfulness that the great sorrow, which might have darkened the beginning of our country life, had been so happily averted.

On Sunday night the wind veered around to the north, and on Monday morning the sky had a clear metallic hue and the ground was frozen hard. Bobsey had not taken cold, and was his former self, except that he was somewhat chastened in spirit and his bump of caution was larger. I was resolved that the day should witness a good beginning of our spring work, and told Winnie and Bobsey that they could help me. Junior, although he yet avoided the house, was ready enough to help Merton with the sap. Therefore soon after breakfast we all were busy.

Around old country places, especially where there has been some degree of neglect, much litter gathers. This was true of our new home and its surroundings. All through the garden were dry, unsightly weeds, about the house was shrubbery that had become tangled masses of unpruned growth, in the orchard the ground was strewn with fallen branches, and I could see dead limbs on many of the trees.

Therefore I said to my two little helpers: "Here in this open space in the garden we will begin our brush-pile, and we will bring to it all the refuse that we wish to burn. You see that we can make an immense heap, for the place is so far away from any buildings that, when the wind goes down, we can set the pile on fire in safety, and the ashes will do the garden good."

During the whole forenoon I pruned the shrubbery, and raked up the rubbish which the children carried by armfuls to our prospective bonfire. They soon wished to see the blaze, but I told them that the wind was too high, and that I did not propose to apply the match until we had a heap half as big as the house; that it might be several days before we should be ready, for I intended to have a tremendous fire.

Thus with the lesson of restraint was given the hope of something wonderful. For a long time they were pleased with the novelty of the work, and then they wanted to do something else, but I said: "No, no; you are gardeners now, and I'm head gardener. You must both help me till dinner-time. After that you can do something else, or play if you choose; but each day, even Bobsey must do some steady work to earn his dinner. We didn't come to the country on a picnic, I can tell you. All must do their best to help make a living;" and so without scruple I kept my little squad busy, for the work was light, although it had become monotonous.

Mousie sometimes aided her mother, and again watched us from the window with great interest. I rigged upon the barrow a rack, in which I wheeled the rubbish gathered at a distance; and by the time my wife's mellow voice called, "Come to dinner"—how sweet her voice and summons were after long hours in the keen March wind!—we had a pile much higher than my head, and the place began to wear a tidy aspect.

Such appetites, such red cheeks and rosy noses as the outdoor workers brought to that plain meal! Mousie was much pleased with the promise that the bonfire should not be lighted until some still, mild day when she could go out and stand with me beside it.

Merton admitted that gathering the sap did not keep him busy more than half the time; so after dinner I gave him a hatchet, and told him to go on with the trimming out of the fallen branches in our wood lot—a task that I had begun—and to carry all wood heavy enough for our fireplace to a spot where it could be put into a wagon.

"Your next work, Merton, will be to collect all your refuse trimmings, and the brush lying about, into a few great heaps; and by and by we'll burn these, too, and gather up the ashes carefully, for I've read and heard all my life that there is nothing better for fruit then wood-ashes. Some day, I hope, we can begin to put money in the bank; for I intend to give all a chance to earn money for themselves, after they have done their share toward our general effort to live and thrive. The next best thing to putting money in the bank is the gathering and saving of everything that will make the ground richer. In fact, all the papers and books that I've read this winter agree that as the farmer's land grows rich he grows rich."



CHAPTER XX

RASPBERRY LESSONS

It must be remembered that I had spent all my leisure during the winter in reading and studying the problem of our country life. Therefore I knew that March was the best month for pruning trees, and I had gained a fairly correct idea how to do this work. Until within the last two or three years of his life, old Mr. Jamison had attended to this task quite thoroughly; and thus little was left for me beyond sawing away the boughs that had recently died, and cutting out the useless sprouts on the larger limbs. Before leaving the city I had provided myself with such tools as I was sure I should need; and finding a ladder under a shed, I attacked the trees vigorously. The wind had almost died out, and I knew I must make the most of all still days in this gusty month. After playing around for a time, Winnie and Bobsey concluded that gathering and piling up my prunings would be as good fun as anything else; and so I had helpers again.

By the middle of the afternoon Mr. Jones appeared, and I was glad to see him, for there were some kinds of work about which I wanted his advice. At one end of the garden were several rows of blackcap raspberry bushes, which had grown into an awful snarl. The old canes that had borne fruit the previous season were still standing, ragged and unsightly; the new stalks that would bear the coming season sprawled in every direction; and I had found that many tips of the branches had grown fast in the ground. I took my neighbor to see this briery wilderness, and asked his advice.

"Have you got a pair of pruning-nippers?" he asked.

Before going to the house to get them, I blew a shrill whistle to summon Merton, for I wished him also to hear all that Mr. Jones might say. I carried a little metallic whistle one blast on which was for Merton, two for Winnie, and three for Bobsey. When they heard this call they were to come as fast as their feet could carry them.

Taking the nippers, Mr. Jones snipped off from one-third to one-half the length of the branches from one of the bushes and cut out the old dead cane.

"I raise these berries myself for home use," he said; "and I can tell you they go nice with milk for a July supper. You see, after taking off so much from these long branches the canes stand straight up, and will be self-supporting, no matter how many berries they bear; but here and there's a bush that has grown slant-wise, or is broken off. Now, if I was you, I'd take a crow-bar 'n' make a hole 'longside these weakly and slantin' fellers, put in a stake, and tie 'em up strong. Then, soon as the frost yields, if you'll get out the grass and weeds that's started among 'em, you'll have a dozen bushel or more of marketable berries from this 'ere wilderness, as you call it. Give Merton a pair of old gloves, and he can do most of the job. Every tip that's fast in the ground is a new plant. If you want to set out another patch, I'll show you how later on."

"I think I know pretty nearly how to do that."

"Yes, yes, I know. Books are a help, I s'pose, but after you've seen one plant set out right, you'll know more than if you'd 'a' read a month."

"Well, now that you're here, Mr. Jones, I'm going to make the most of you. How about those other raspberries off to the southeast of the house?"

"Those are red ones. Let's take a look at 'em."

Having reached the patch, we found almost as bad a tangle as in the blackcap patch, except that the canes were more upright in their growth and less full of spines or briers.

"It's plain enough," continued Mr. Jones, "that old man Jamison was too poorly to take much care of things last year. You see, these red raspberries grow different from those black ones yonder. Those increase by the tips of the branches takin' root; these by suckers. All these young shoots comin' up between the rows are suckers, and they ought to be dug out. As I said before, you can set them out somewhere else if you want to. Dig 'em up, you know; make a trench in some out-of-the-way place, and bury the roots till you want 'em. Like enough the neighbors will buy some if they know you have 'em to spare. Only be sure to cut these long canes back to within six inches of the ground."

"Yes," I said, "that's all just as I have read in the books."

"So much the better for the books, then. I haven't lived in this fruit-growin' region all my life without gettin' some ideas as to what's what. I give my mind to farmin'; but Jamison and I were great cronies, and I used to be over here every day or two, and so it's natural to keep comin'."

"That's my good luck."

"Well, p'raps it'll turn out so. Now Merton's just the right age to help you in all this work. Jamison, you see, grew these raspberries in a continuous bushy row; that is, say, three good strong canes every eighteen inches apart in the row, and the rows five feet apart, so he could run a horse-cultivator between. Are you catchin' on, Merton?"

"Yes, sir," said the boy, with much interest.

"Well, all these suckers and extra plants that are swampin' the ground are just as bad as weeds. Dig 'em all out, only don't disturb the roots of the bearin' canes you leave in the rows much."

"How about trimming these?" I asked.

"Well, that depends. If you want early fruit, you'll let 'em stand as they be; if you want big berries, you'll cut 'em back one-third. Let me see. Here's five rows of Highland Hardy; miserable poor- tastin' kind; but they come so early that they often pay the best. Let them stand with their whole length of cane, and if you can scatter a good top-dressin' of fine manure scraped up from the barnyard, you'll make the berries larger. Those other rows of Cuthbert, Reliance, and Turner, cut back the canes one-third, and you'll get a great deal more fruit than if you left more wood on 'em. Cuttin' back'll make the berries big; and so they'll bring as much, p'raps, as if they were early."

"Well, Merton, this all accords with what I've read, only Mr. Jones makes it much clearer. I think we know how to go to work now, and surely there's plenty to do."

"Yes, indeed," resumed Mr. Jones; "and you'll soon find the work crowdin' you. Now come to the big raspberry patch back of the barn, the patch where the canes are all laid down, as I told you. These are Hudson River Antwerps. Most people have gone out of 'em, but Jamison held on, and he was makin' money on 'em. So may you. They are what we call tender, you see, and in November they must be bent down close to the ground and covered with earth, or else every cane would be dead from frost by spring. About the first week in April, if the weather's mild, you must uncover 'em, and tie 'em to stakes durin' the month."

"Now, Mr. Jones, one other good turn and we won't bother you any more to-day. All the front of the house is covered by two big grape- vines that have not been trimmed, and there are a great many other vines on the place. I've read and read on the subject, but I declare I'm afraid to touch them."

"Now, you're beyond my depth. I've got a lot of vines home, and I trim 'em in my rough way, but I know I ain't scientific, and we have pretty poor, scraggly bunches. They taste just as good, though, and I don't raise any to sell. There's a clever man down near the landin' who has a big vineyard, and he's trimmed it as your vines ought to have been long ago. I'd advise you to go and see him, and he can show you all the latest wrinkles in prunin'. Now, I'll tell you what I come for, in the first place. You'll remember that I said there'd be a vandoo to-morrow. I've been over and looked at the stock offered. There's a lot of chickens, as I told you; a likely- looking cow with a calf at her side; a fairish and quiet old horse that ought to go cheap, but he'd answer well the first year. Do you think you'll get more'n one horse to start with?"

"No; you said I could hire such heavy plowing as was needed at a moderate sum, and I think we can get along with one horse for a time. My plan is to go slow, and, I hope, sure."

"That's the best way, only it ain't common. I'll be around in the mornin' for you and such of the children as you'll take."

"On one condition, Mr. Jones. You must let me pay you for your time and trouble. Unless you'll do this in giving me my start, I'll have to paddle my own canoe, even if I sink it."

"Oh, I've no grudge against an honest penny turned in any way that comes handy. You and I can keep square as we go along. You can give me what you think is right, and if I ain't satisfied, I'll say so."

I soon learned that my neighbor had no foolish sensitiveness. I could pay him what I thought the value of his services, and he pocketed the money without a word. Of course, I could not pay him what his advice was really worth, for his hard common-sense stood me in good stead in many ways.



CHAPTER XXI

THE "VANDOO"

The next morning at about eight o'clock Mr. Jones arrived in a long farm-wagon on springs, with one seat in it; but Junior had half filled its body with straw, and he said to Merton, "I thought that p'raps, if you and the children could go, you'd like a straw-ride."

The solemnity with which Winnie and Bobsey promised to obey orders gave some hope of performance; so I tossed them into the straw, and we drove away, a merry party, leaving Mousie consoled with the hope of receiving something from the vendue.

"There's allers changes and breakin's up in the spring," said Mr. Jones, as we drove along; "and this family's goin' out West. Everything is to be sold, in doors and out."

The farmhouse in question was about two miles away. By the time we arrived, all sorts of vehicles were converging to it on the muddy roads, for the weather had become mild again. Stylish-looking people drove up in top-buggies, and there were many heavy, springless wagons driven by rusty-looking countrymen, whose trousers were thrust into the top of their cowhide boots. I strolled through the house before the sale began, thinking that I might find something there which would please Mousie and my wife. The rooms were already half filled with the housewives from the vicinity; red-faced Irish women, who stalked about and examined everything with great freedom; placid, peach-cheeked dames in Quaker bonnets, who softly cooed together, and took every chance they could to say pleasant words to the flurried, nervous family that was being thrust out into the world, as it were, while still at their own hearth.

I marked with my eye a low, easy sewing-chair for my wife, and a rose geranium, full of bloom, for Mousie, purposing to bid on them. I also observed that Junior was examining several pots of flowers that stood in the large south window. Then giving Merton charge of the children, with directions not to lose sight of them a moment, I went to the barn-yard and stable, feeling that the day was a critical one in our fortunes. True enough, among the other stock there was a nice-looking cow with a calf, and Mr. Jones said she had Jersey blood in her veins. This meant rich, creamy milk. I thought the animal had a rather ugly eye, but this might be caused by anxiety for her calf, with so many strangers about. We also examined the old bay horse and a market wagon and harness. Then Mr. Jones and I drew apart and agreed upon the limit of his bids, for I proposed to act solely through him. Every one knew him and was aware that he would not go a cent beyond what a thing was worth. He had a word and a jest for all, and "How ARE YOU, JOHN?" greeted him wherever he went.

At ten o'clock the sale began. The auctioneer was a rustic humorist, who knew the practical value of a joke in his business. Aware of the foibles and characteristics of the people who flocked around and after him, he provoked many a ripple and roar of laughter by his telling hits and droll speeches. I found that my neighbor, Mr. Jones, came in for his full share, but he always sent back as good as he received. The sale, in fact, had the aspect of a country merrymaking, at which all sorts and conditions of people met on common ground, Pat bidding against the best of the landed gentry, while boys and dogs innumerable played around and sometimes verged on serious quarrels.

Junior, I observed, left his mark before the day was over. He was standing, watching the sale with his usual impassive expression, when a big, hulking fellow leered into his face and cried.

"Tow head, white-head, Thick-head, go to bed."

The last word was scarcely out of his mouth before Junior's fist was between his eyes, and down he went.

"Want any more?" Junior coolly asked, as the fellow got up.

Evidently he didn't, for he slunk off, followed by jeers and laughter.

At noon there was an immense pot of coffee with crackers and cheese, placed on a table near the kitchen door, and we had a free lunch. To this Bobsey paid his respects so industriously that a great, gawky mountaineer looked down at him and said, with a grin, "I say, young 'un, you're gettin' outside of more fodder than any critter of your size I ever knowed."

"'Tain't your fodder," replied Bobsey, who had learned, in the streets, to be a little pert.

The day came to an end at last, and the cow and calf, the old bay horse, the wagon, and the harness were mine. On the whole, Mr. Jones had bought them at reasonable rates. He also bid in for me, at one dollar per pair, two cocks and twenty hens that looked fairly well in their coop.

For my part, I had secured the chair and blooming geranium. To my surprise, when the rest of the flowers were sold, Junior took part in the bidding for the first time, and, as a result, carried out to the wagon several other pots of house-plants.

"Why, Junior," I said, "I didn't know you had such an eye for beauty."

He blushed, but made no reply.

The chickens and the harness were put into Mr. Jones's conveyance, the wagon I had bought was tied on behind, and we jogged homeward, the children exulting over our new possessions. When I took in the geranium bush and put it on the table by the sunny kitchen window, Junior followed with an armful of his plants.

"They're for Mousie," he said; and before the delighted child could thank him, he darted out.

Indeed, it soon became evident that Mousie was Junior's favorite. She never said much to him, but she looked a great deal. To the little invalid girl he seemed the embodiment of strength and cleverness, and, perhaps because he was so strong, his sympathies went out toward the feeble child.

The coop of chickens was carried to the basement that we had made ready, and Winnie declared that she meant to "hear the first crow and get the first egg."

The next day the horse and the cow and calf were brought over, and we felt that we were fairly launched in our country life.

"You have a bigger family to look after outdoors than I have indoors," my wife said, laughingly.

I was not long in learning that some of my outdoor family were anything but amiable. The two cocks fought and fought until Junior, who had run over before night, showed Merton that by ducking their heads in cold water their belligerent spirit could be partially quenched. Then he proceeded to give me a lesson in milking. The calf was shut up away from the cow, which was driven into a corner, where she stood with signs of impatience while Junior, seated on a three- legged stool, essayed to obtain the nectar we all so dearly loved. At first he did not succeed very well.

"She won't let it down—she's keepin' it for the calf," said the boy. But at last she relented, and the white streams flowed. "Now," said Junior to me, "you see how I do it. You try."

As I took his place, I noticed that Brindle turned on me a vicious look. No doubt I was awkward and hurt her a little, also; for the first thing I knew the pail was in the air, I on my back, and Brindle bellowing around the yard, switching her tail, Junior and Merton meanwhile roaring with laughter. I got up in no amiable mood and said, roughly, to the boys, "Quit that nonsense."

But they couldn't obey, and at last I had to join in the laugh.

"Why, she's ugly as sin," said Junior. "I'll tell you what to do. Let her go with her calf now, and in the morning we'll drive her down to one of the stalls in the basement of the barn and fasten her by the head. Then we can milk her without risk. After her calf is gone she'll be a great deal tamer."

This plan was carried out, and it worked pretty well, although it was evident that, from some cause, the cow was wild and vicious. One of my theories is, that all animals can be subdued by kindness. Mr. Jones advised me to dispose of Brindle, but I determined to test my theory first. Several times a day I would go to the barn-yard and give her a carrot or a whisp of hay from my hand, and she gradually became accustomed to me, and would come at my call. A week later I sold her calf to a butcher, and for a few days she lowed and mourned deeply, to Mousie's great distress. But carrots consoled her, and within three weeks she would let me stroke her, and both Merton and I could milk her without trouble. I believe she had been treated harshly by her former owners.



CHAPTER XXII

EARLY APRIL GARDENING

Spring was coming on apace, and we all made the most of every pleasant hour. The second day after the auction proved a fine one; and leaving Winnie and Merton in charge of the house, I took my wife, with Bobsey and Mousie, who was well bundled up, to see the scientific grape-grower, and to do some shopping. At the same time we assured ourselves that we were having a pleasure-drive; and it did me good to see how the mother and daughter, who had been kept indoors so long, enjoyed themselves. Mr. Jones was right. I received better and clearer ideas of vine-pruning in half an hour from studying work that had been properly done, and by asking questions of a practical man, than I could ever have obtained by reading. We found that the old bay horse jogged along, at as good a gait as we could expect, over the muddy road, and I was satisfied that he was quiet enough for my wife to drive him after she had learned how, and gained a little confidence. She held the reins as we drove home, and, in our own yard, I gave her some lessons in turning around, backing, etc.

"Some day," I said, "you shall have a carriage and a gay young horse." When we sat down to supper, I was glad to see that a little color was dawning in Mousie's face.

The bundles we brought home supplemented our stores of needful articles, and our life began to take on a regular routine. The carpenter came and put up the shelves, and made such changes as my wife desired; then he aided me in repairing the out-buildings. I finished pruning the trees, while Merton worked manfully at the raspberries, for we saw that this was a far more pressing task than gathering wood, which could be done to better advantage in the late autumn. Every morning Winnie and Bobsey were kept steadily busy in carrying our trimmings to the brush heap, which now began to assume vast proportions, especially as the refuse from the grape-vine and raspberry bushes was added to it. As the ground became settled after the frost was out, I began to set the stakes by the side of such raspberry canes as needed tying up; and here was a new light task for the two younger children. Bobsey's little arms could go around the canes and hold them close to the stake, while Winnie, a sturdy child, quickly tied them with a coarse, cheap string that I had bought for the purpose. Even my wife came out occasionally and helped us at this work. By the end of the last week in March I had all the fruit-trees fairly pruned and the grape-vines trimmed and tied up, and had given Merton much help among the raspberries. In shallow boxes of earth on the kitchen table, cabbage, lettuce, and tomato seeds were sprouting beside Mousie's plants. The little girl hailed with delight every yellowish green germ that appeared above the soil.

The hens had spent their first few days in inspecting their quarters and becoming familiar with them; but one morning there was a noisy cackle, and Winnie soon came rushing in with three fresh-laid eggs. A week later we had all we could use, and my wife began to put some by for the first brooding biddies to sit upon.

The first day of April promised to be unusually dry and warm, and I said at the breakfast table: "This is to be a great day. We'll prove that we are not April-fools by beginning our garden. I was satisfied yesterday that a certain warm slope was dry enough to dig and plant with hardy vegetables, and I've read and studied over and over again which to plant first, and how to plant them. I suppose I shall make mistakes, but I wish you all to see how I do it, and then by next spring we shall have learned from experience how to do better. No doubt, some things might have been planted before, but we've all been too busy. Now, Merton, you go and harness old Bay to the cart I bought with the place, and I'll get out my treasure of seeds. Mousie, by ten o'clock, if the sun keeps out of the clouds, you can put on your rubbers and join us."

Soon all was bustle and excitement. Among my seeds were two quarts of red and two of white onion sets, or little bits of onions, which I had kept in a cool place, so that they should not sprout before their time. These I took out first. Then with Merton I went to the barn-yard and loaded up the cart with the finest and most decayed manure we could find, and this was dumped on the highest part of the slope that I meant to plant.

"Now, Merton, I guess you can get another load, while I spread this heap and begin to dig;" and he went off with the horse and cart, having an increased idea of his importance. I marked a long strip of the sunny slope, fifteen feet wide, and spread the manure evenly and thickly, for I had read, and my own sense confirmed the view, that a little ground well enriched would yield more than a good deal of poor land. I then dug till my back ached; and I found that it began to ache pretty soon, for I was not accustomed to such toil.

"After the first seeds are in," I muttered, "I'll have the rest of the garden plowed."

When I had dug down about four feet of the strip, I concluded to rest myself by a change of labor; so I took the rake and smoothed off the ground, stretched a garden line across it, and, with a sharp-pointed hoe, made a shallow trench, or drill.

"Now, Winnie and Bobsey," I said, "it is time for you to do your part. Just stick these little onions in the trench about four inches apart;" and I gave each of them a little stick of the right length to measure the distance; for they had vague ideas of four inches. "Be sure," I continued, "that you get the bottom of the onion down. This is the top, and this is the bottom. Press the onion in the soil just enough to make it stand firm, so. That's right. Oh, you're learning fast. Now I can rest, you see, while you do the planting."

In a few moments they had stuck the fifteen feet of shallow trench, or drill, full of onions, which I covered with earth, packing it lightly with my hoe. I then moved the line fourteen inches further down and made another shallow drill. In this way we soon had all the onion sets in the ground. Merton came back with his load in time to see how it was done, and nodded his head approvingly. I now felt rested enough to dig awhile, and Merton started off to the barn-yard again. We next sowed, in even shallower drills, the little onion seed that looked like gunpowder, for my garden book said that the earlier this was planted the better. We had completed only a few rows when Mr. Jones appeared, and said: "Plantin' onions here? Why, neighbor, this ground is too dry and light for onions."

"Is it? Well, I knew I'd make mistakes. I haven't used near all my onion seed yet, however."

"Oh, well, no great harm's done. You've made the ground rich, and, if we have a moist season, like enough they'll do well. P'raps it's the best thing, after all, 'specially if you've put in the seed thick, as most people do. Let 'em all grow, and you'll have a lot of little onions, or sets, of your own raisin' to plant early next spring. Save the rest of your seed until you have some rich, strong, deep soil ready. I came over to say that if this weather holds a day or two longer I'll plow the garden; and I thought I'd tell you, so that you might get ready for me. The sooner you get your early pertaters in the better."

"Your words almost take the ache out of my back," I said. "I fear we shouldn't have much of a garden if I had to dig it all, but I thought I'd make a beginning with a few early vegetables."

"That's well enough, but a plow beats a fork all hollow. You'll know what I mean when you see my plow going down to the beam and loosenin' the ground from fifteen to twenty inches. So burn your big brush-pile, and get out what manure you're goin' to put in the garden, and I'll be ready when you are."

"All right. Thank you. I'll just plant some radishes, peas, and beans."

"Not beans yet, Mr. Durham. Don't put those in till the last of the month, and plant them very shallow when you do."

"How one forgets when there's not much experience to fall back upon! I now remember that my book said that beans, in this latitude, should not be planted until about the 1st of May."

"And lima beans not till the 10th of May," added Mr. Jones. "You might put in a few early beets here, although the ground is rather light for 'em. You could put your main crop somewhere else. Well, let me know when you're ready. Junior and me are drivin' things, too, this mornin';" and he stalked away, whistling a hymn-tune in rather lively time.

I said: "Youngsters, I think I'll get my garden book and be sure I'm right about sowing the radish and beet seed and the peas. Mr. Jones has rather shaken my confidence."

When Merton came with the next load I told him that he could put the horse in the stable and help us. As a result, we soon had several rows of radishes and beets sown, fourteen inches apart. We planted the seed only an inch deep, and packed the ground lightly over it. Mousie, to her great delight, was allowed to drop a few of the seeds. Merton was ambitious to take the fork, but I soon stopped him, and said: "Digging is too heavy work for you, my boy. There is enough that you can do without overtaxing yourself. We must all act like good soldiers. The campaign of work is just opening, and it would be very foolish for any of us to disable ourselves at the start. We'll plant only half a dozen rows of these dwarf peas this morning, and then this afternoon we'll have the bonfire and get ready for Mr. Jones's plow."

At the prospect of the bonfire the younger children set up shouts of exultation, which cheered me on as I turned over the soil with the fork, although often stopping to rest. My back ached, but my heart was light. In my daily work now I had all my children about me, and their smaller hands were helping in the most practical way. Their voices were as joyous as the notes of the robins, song-sparrows, and bluebirds that were singing all about us. A soft haze half obscured the mountains, and mellowed the sunshine. From the springing grass and fresh-turned soil came odors sweet as those which made Eden fragrant after "a mist went up from the earth and watered the whole face of the ground."

All the children helped to plant the peas, which we placed carefully and evenly, an inch apart, in the row, and covered with two inches of soil, the rows being two feet distant one from another. I had decided to plant chiefly McLean's Little Gem, because they needed no stakes or brush for support. We were almost through our task when, happening to look toward the house, I saw my wife standing in the doorway, a framed picture.

"Dinner," she called, in a voice as sweet to me as that of the robin singing in the cherry-tree over her head.

The children stampeded for the house, Winnie crying: "Hurry up, mamma, for right after dinner papa will set the great brush-pile on fire, and we're going to dance round it like Indians. You must come out, too."



CHAPTER XXIII

A BONFIRE AND A FEAST

It amused and interested me to see upon the children's faces such an eager expectancy as they hurried through our midday meal. Nothing greater than a bonfire was in prospect, yet few costly pleasures could have afforded them such excitement. I found myself sharing in their anticipation to a degree that surprised me, and was led to ask myself why it is that outdoor pursuits often take so strong a hold upon the fancy. I recalled traits shown by one of my former employers. He was a gray-headed man, possessing great wealth and an elegant city home, while his mind was occupied by a vast and complicated business. When he learned that I was going to the country, he would often come to me, and, with kindling eyes and animated tones, talk of his chickens, cows, fruit-trees and crops. He proved that the best product of his farm was the zest it brought him into his life—a zest that was failing in his other occupations and interests. What was true of him I knew to be equally so of many others to whom wealth brings no greater luxury than the ability to indulge in expensive farming. A lifetime in the city does not destroy the primal instinct which leads men to the soil nor does a handsome dividend from stocks give the unalloyed pleasure awakened by a basket of fresh eggs or fruit. This love of the earth is not earthiness, but has been the characteristic of the best and greatest minds. Washington would turn from the anxieties of a campaign and the burdens of state to read, with absorbing interest, the reports of the agent who managed his plantation, and to write out the minutest details for the overseer's guidance.

In my limited way and sphere I was under the influence of the same impulses; and, as I looked around the table at those so dear to me, I felt that I had far more at stake. I had not come back to Nature merely to amuse myself or to gratify a taste, but to co-work with her in fulfilling the most sacred duties. With the crops of the coming years these children must be nourished and fitted for their part in life, and I felt that all my faculties must be employed to produce the best results from my open-air toil.

Therefore, why should not I also be interested in the prospective bonfire? It would transmute the unsightly rubbish of the place into fertilizing ashes, and clear the ground for the plow. The mellow soil would produce that which would give brain and muscle—life to those whose lives were dear.

He who spreads his table with food secured by his own hands direct from nature should feel a strong incentive to do his best. The coarse, unvaried diet, common to many farmers' homes, is the result of stolid minds and plodding ways. A better manhood and womanhood will be developed when we act upon the truth that varied and healthful sustenance improves blood and brain, and therefore character.

I was growing abstracted, when my wife remarked, "Robert, will you deign to come back from a remote region of thought and take some rice pudding?"

"You may all fare the better for my thoughts," I replied.

The children, however, were bolting their pudding at railroad speed, and I perceived that the time demanded action. Winnie and Bobsey wished me to light the fire at once, but I said: "No, not till mamma and Mousie are ready to come out. You must stay and help them clear away the things. When all is ready, you two shall start the blaze."

Very soon we were all at the brush-pile, which towered above our heads, and I said: "Merton, it will burn better if we climb over it and trample it down a little. It is too loose now. While we do this, Winnie and Bobsey can gather dry grass and weeds that will take fire quickly. Now which way is the wind?"

"There isn't any wind, papa," Merton replied.

"Let us see. Put your forefingers in your mouths, all of you, then hold them up and note which side feels the coolest."

"This side!" cried one and another.

"Yes; and this side is toward the west; therefore, Winnie, put the dry grass here on the western side of the heap, and what air is stirring will carry the blaze through the pile."

Little hands that trembled with eagerness soon held lighted matches to the dry grass; there was a yellow flicker in the sunshine, then a blaze, a crackle, a devouring rush of flames that mounted higher and higher until, with the surrounding column of smoke, there was a conflagration which, at night, would have alarmed the country-side. The children at first gazed with awe upon the scenes as they backed farther away from the increasing heat. Our beacon-fire drew Junior, who came bounding over the fences toward us; and soon he and Merton began to see how near they could dash in toward the blaze without being scorched. I soon stopped this.

"Show your courage, Merton, when there is need of it," I said. "Rash venturing is not bravery, but foolishness, and often costs people dear."

When the pile sank down into glowing embers, I turned to Bobsey, and added: "I have let you light a fire under my direction. Never think of doing anything of the kind without my permission, for if you do, you will certainly sit in a chair, facing the wall, all day long, with nothing to cheer you but bread and water and a sound whipping. There is one thing which you children must learn from the start, and that is, you can't play with fire except under my eyes."

At this direful threat Bobsey looked as grave as his round little face permitted, and, with the memory of his peril in the creek fresh in mind, was ready enough with the most solemn promises. A circle of unburned brush was left around the embers. This I raked in on the hot coals, and soon all was consumed.

"Now I have a suggestion," cried my wife. "We'll have some roast potatoes, for here are lots of hot coals and ashes." Away scampered Winnie to the cellar for the tubers. Our bonfire ended in a feast, and then the ashes were spread far and wide. When the exciting events were past, Winnie and Bobsey amused themselves in other ways, Mousie venturing to stay with them while the sun remained high. Merton and I meanwhile put the horse to the cart and covered all the ground, especially the upper and poorer portions, with a good dressing from the barnyard.

In the evening Junior gave Merton a good hint about angle-worms. "Follow the plow," he said, "and pick 'em up and put 'em in a tight box. Then sink the box in a damp place and nearly fill it with fine earth, and you always have bait ready when you want to go a-fishing. After a few more warm days the fish will begin to bite first-rate."

Early the next morning Mr. Jones was on hand with his stout team, and, going twice in every furrow, he sunk his plow to the beam. "When you loosen the soil deep in this style," he said, "ye needn't be afraid of dry weather unless it's an amazin' long spell. Why, bless you, Mr. Durham, there's farmers around here who don't scratch their ground much deeper than an old hen would, and they're always groanin' over droughts. If I can get my plow down eighteen inches, and then find time to stir the surface often in the growin' season, I ain't afraid of a month of dry weather."

We followed Mr. Jones for a few turns around the garden, I inhaling the fresh wholesome odors of the soil with pleasure, and Merton and the two younger children picking up angle-worms.

Our neighbor soon paused and resumed: "I guess I'll give you a hint that'll add bushels of pertaters to yer crop. After I've plowed the garden, I'll furrow out deep a lot of rows, three feet apart. Let Merton take a hoe and scrape up the fine old manure in the barnyard. Don't use any other kind. Then sprinkle it thickly in the furrows, and draw your hoe through 'em to mix the fertilizer well with the soil. Drop your seed then, eight inches apart in the row, and cover with four inches of dirt. One can't do this very handy by the acre, but I've known such treatment to double the crop and size of the pertaters in a garden or small patch."

I took the hint at once, and set Merton at work, saying that Winnie and Bobsey could gather all the worms he wanted. Then I went for a half-bushel of early potatoes, and Mr. Jones showed me how to cut them so as to leave at least two good "eyes" to each piece. Half an hour later it occurred to me to see how Merton was getting on. I found him perspiring, and almost panting with fatigue, and my conscience smote me. "There, my boy," I said, "this is too hard work for you. Come with me and I'll show you how to cut the potatoes. But first go into the house, and cool off while you drink a glass of milk."

"Well, papa," he replied, gratefully, "I wouldn't mind a change like that. I didn't want you to think I was shirking, but, to tell the truth, I was getting played out."

"Worked out, you mean. It's not my wish that you should ever be either played or worked out, nor will you if you take play and work in the right degree. Remember," I added, seriously, "that you are a growing boy, and it's not my intention to put you at anything beyond your strength. If, in my inexperience, I do give you too hard work, tell me at once. There's plenty to do that won't overtax you."

So we exchanged labors, and by the time the garden was plowed and the furrows were made I had scraped up enough fine material in the barnyard to give my tubers a great start. I varied my labor with lessons in plowing, for running in my head was an "old saw" to the effect that "he who would thrive must both hold the plow and drive."

The fine weather lasted long enough for us to plant our early potatoes in the most approved fashion, and then came a series of cold, wet days and frosty nights. Mr. Jones assured us that the vegetable seeds already in the ground would receive no harm. At such times as were suitable for work we finished trimming and tying up the hardy raspberries, cleaning up the barnyard, and carting all the fertilizers we could find to the land that we meant to cultivate.



CHAPTER XXIV

"NO BLIND DRIFTING"

One long, stormy day I prepared an account-book. On its left-hand pages I entered the cost of the place and all expenses thus far incurred. The right-hand pages were for records of income, as yet small indeed. They consisted only of the proceeds from the sale of the calf, the eggs that Winnie gathered, and the milk measured each day, all valued at the market price. I was resolved that there should be no blind drifting toward the breakers of failure—that at the end of the year we should know whether we had made progress, stood still, or gone backward. My system of keeping the accounts was so simple that I easily explained it to my wife, Merton, and Mousie, for I believed that, if they followed the effort at country living understandingly, they would be more willing to practice the self- denial necessary for success. Indeed, I had Merton write out most of the items, even though the record, as a result, was not very neat. I stopped his worrying over blots and errors, by saying, "You are of more account than the account-book, and will learn by practice to be as accurate as any one."

My wife and Mousie also started another book of household expenses, that we might always know just where we stood and what our prospects were.

Weeks would elapse before our place would be food-producing to any great extent. In the meantime we must draw chiefly on our capital in order to live. Winifred and I resolved to meet this necessity in no careless way, feeling that not a penny should be spent which might be saved. The fact that I had only my family to support was greatly in our favor. There was no kitchen cabinet, that ate much and wasted more, to satisfy. Therefore, our revenue of eggs and milk went a long way toward meeting the problem. We made out a list of cheap, yet wholesome, articles of food, and found that we could buy oatmeal at four cents per pound, Indian meal at two and a half cents, rice at eight cents, samp at four, mackerel at nine, pork at twelve, and ham at fifteen cents. The last two articles were used sparingly, and more as relishes and for flavoring than as food. Flour happened to be cheap at the time, the best costing but seven dollars a barrel; of vegetables, we had secured abundance at slight cost; and the apples still added the wholesome element of fruit. A butcher drove his wagon to our door three times a week and, for cash, would give us, at very reasonable rates, certain cuts of beef and mutton. These my wife conjured into appetizing dishes and delicious soups.

Thus it can be seen that we had a varied diet at a surprisingly small outlay. Such details may appear to some very homely, yet our health and success depended largely upon thoughtful attention to just such prosaic matters. The children were growing plump and ruddy at an expense less than would be incurred by one or two visits from a fashionable physician in the city.

In the matter of food, I also gave more thought to my wife's time and strength than to the little people's wishes. While we had variety and abundance, we did not have many dishes at any one meal.

"We shall not permit mamma to be over the hot range any more than is necessary," I said. "She and Mousie must give us, from day to day, what costs little in time as well as money."

Fortunately, plain, wholesome food does not require much time in preparation. There would be better health in many homes if there was more economy in labor. For instance, the children at first clamored for griddle-cakes, but I said, "Isn't it nicer to have mamma sit down quietly with us at breakfast than to see her running back and forth from the hot stove?" and even Bobsey, though rather ruefully, voted against cakes, except on rare occasions.

The wash-tub I forbade utterly, and the services of a stout Irishwoman were secured for one day in the week. Thus, by a little management, my wife was not overtaxed. Indeed, she had so much leisure that she and Mousie began giving Winnie and Bobsey daily lessons, for we had decided that the children should not go to school until the coming autumn. Early in April, therefore, our country life was passing into a quiet routine, not burdensome, at least within doors; and I justly felt that if all were well in the citadel of home, the chances of the outdoor campaign were greatly improved.



CHAPTER XXV

OWLS AND ANTWERPS

Each day at dawn, unless it was stormy, Merton patrolled the place with his gun, looking for hawks and other creatures which at this season he was permitted to shoot. He had quite as serious and important an air as if he were sallying forth to protect us from deadlier foes. For a time he saw nothing to fire at, since he had promised me not to shoot harmless birds. He always indulged himself, however, in one shot at a mark, and was becoming sure in his aim at stationary objects. One evening, however, when we were almost ready to retire, a strange sound startled us. At first it reminded me of the half-whining bark of a young dog, but the deep, guttural trill that followed convinced me that it was a screech-owl, for I remembered having heard these birds when a boy.

The moment I explained the sound, Merton darted for his gun, and my wife exclaimed: "O dear! what trouble is coming now? Mother always said that the hooting of an owl near a house was a bad omen."

I did not share in the superstition, although I disliked the uncanny sounds, and was under the impression that all owls, like hawks, should be destroyed. Therefore, I followed Merton out, hoping that he would get a successful shot at the night prowler.

The moonlight illumined everything with a soft, mild radiance; and the trees, with their tracery of bough and twig, stood out distinctly. Before we could discover the creature, it flew with noiseless wing from a maple near the door to another perch up the lane, and again uttered its weird notes.

Merton was away like a swift shadow, and, screening himself behind the fence, stole upon his game. A moment later the report rang out in the still night. It so happened that Merton had fired just as the bird was about to fly, and had only broken a wing. The owl fell to the ground, but led the boy a wild pursuit before he was captured. Merton's hands were bleeding when he brought the creature in. Unless prevented, it would strike savagely with its beak, and the motions of its head were as quick as lightning. It was, indeed, a strange captive, and the children looked at it in wondering and rather fearful curiosity. My wife, usually tender-hearted, wished the creature, so ill-omened in her eyes, to be killed at once, but I granted Merton's request that he might put it in a box and keep it alive for a while.

"In the morning," I said, "we will read all about it, and can examine it more carefully."

My wife yielded, and I am not sure but that she thought we might avert misfortune by showing mercy.

Among my purchases was a recent work on natural history. But our minds had been engrossed with too many practical questions to give it much attention. Next morning we consulted it, and found our captive variously described as the little red, the mottled, or the screech owl. Then followed an account of its character and habits. We learned that we had made war upon a useful friend, instead of an ill-boding, harmful creature. We were taught that this species is a destroyer of mice, beetles, and vermin, thus rendering the agriculturist great services, which, however are so little known that the bird is everywhere hunted down without mercy or justice.

"Surely, this is not true of all owls," I said, and by reading further we learned that the barred, or hoot owl, and the great horned owl, were deserving of a surer aim of Merton's gun. They prey not only upon useful game, but also invade the poultry-yard, the horned species being especially destructive. Instances were given in which these freebooters had killed every chicken upon a farm. As they hunt only at night, they are hard to capture. Their notes and natures are said to be in keeping with their deeds of darkness; for their cry is wild, harsh, and unearthly, while in temper they are cowardly, savage, and untamable, showing no affection even for each other. A female has been known to kill and eat the male.

"The moral of this owl episode," I concluded, "is that we must learn to know our neighbors, be they birds, beasts, or human beings, before we judge them. This book is not only full of knowledge, but of information that is practical and useful. I move that we read up about the creatures in our vicinity. What do you say, Merton? wouldn't it be well to learn what to shoot, as well as how to shoot?"

Protecting his hands with buckskin gloves, the boy applied mutton suet to our wounded owl's wing. It was eventually healed, and the bird was given its liberty. It gradually became sprightly and tame, and sociable in the evening, affording the children and Junior much amusement.

By the 7th of April there was a prospect of warmer and more settled weather, and Mr. Jones told us to lose no time in uncovering our Antwerp raspberries. They had been bent down close to the ground the previous winter and covered with earth. To remove this without breaking the canes, required careful and skilful work. We soon acquired the knack, however, of pushing and throwing aside the soil, then lifting the canes gently through what remained, and shaking them clear.

"Be careful to level the ground evenly," Mr. Jones warned us, "for it won't do at all to leave hummocks of dirt around the hills;" and we followed his instructions.

The canes were left until a heavy shower of rain washed them clean; then Winnie and Bobsey tied them up. We gave steady and careful attention to the Antwerps, since they would be our main dependence for income. I also raked in around the hills of one row a liberal dressing of wood ashes, intending to note its effect.



CHAPTER XXVI

A COUNTRY SUNDAY

Hitherto the Sabbaths had been stormy and the roads bad, and we had given the days to rest and family sociability. But at last there came a mild, sunny morning, and we resolved to find a church-home. I had heard that Dr. Lyman, who preached in the nearest village had the faculty of keeping young people awake. Therefore we harnessed the old bay-horse to our market-wagon, donned our "go-ter-meetin's," as Junior called his Sunday clothes, and started. Whatever might be the result of the sermon, the drive promised to do us good. The tender young grass by the roadside, and the swelling buds of trees, gave forth delicious odors; a spring haze softened the outline of the mountains, and made them almost as beautiful as if clothed with foliage; robins, song-sparrows, and other birds were so tuneful that Mousie said she wished they might form the choir at the church. Indeed, the glad spirit of Spring was abroad, and it found its way into our hearts. We soon learned that it entered largely also into Dr. Lyman's sermon. We were not treated as strangers and intruders, but welcomed and shown to a pew in a way that made us feel at home. I discovered that I, too, should be kept awake and given much to think about. We remained until Sunday-school, which followed the service, was over, and then went home, feeling that life both here and hereafter was something to be thankful for. After dinner, without even taking the precaution of locking the door, we all strolled down the lane and the steeply sloping meadow to our wood lot and the banks of the Moodna Creek. My wife had never seen this portion of our place before, and she was delighted with its wild beauty and seclusion. She shivered and turned a little pale, however, as she saw the stream, still high and swift, that had carried Bobsey away.

Junior joined us, and led the children to a sunny bank, from which soon came shouts of joy over the first wildflowers of the season. I placed my wife on a rock, and we sat quietly for a time, inhaling the fresh woody odors, and listening to the murmurs of the creek and the song of the birds. Then I asked: "Isn't this better than a city flat and a noisy street? Are not these birds pleasanter neighbors than the Daggetts and the Ricketts?"

Her glad smile was more eloquent than words could have been. Mousie came running to us, holding in her hand, which trembled from excitement, a little bunch of liverworts and anemones. Tears of happiness actually stood in her eyes, and she could only falter, "O mamma! just look!" and then she hastened away to gather more.

"That child belongs to nature," I said, "and would always be an exile in the city. How greatly she has improved in health already!"

The air grew damp and chill early, and we soon returned to the house. Monday was again fair, and found us absorbed in our busy life, each one having plenty to do. When it was safe to uncover the raspberries, Merton and I had not lost a moment in the task. At the time of which I write we put in stakes where they were missing, obtaining not a few of them from the wood lot. We also made our second planting of potatoes and other hardy vegetables in the garden. The plants in the kitchen window were thriving, and during mild, still days we carried them to a sheltered place without, that they might become inured to the open air.

Winnie already had three hens sitting on their nests full of eggs, and she was counting the days until the three weeks of incubation should expire, and the little chicks break their shells. One of the hens proved a fickle biddy, and left her nest, much to the child's anger and disgust. But the others were faithful, and one morning Winnie came bounding in, saying she had heard the first "peep." I told her to be patient and leave the brood until the following day, since I had read that the chicks were stronger for not being taken from the nest too soon. She had treated the mother hens so kindly that they were tame, and permitted her to throw out the empty shells, and exult over each new-comer into a brief existence.

Our radishes had come up nicely; but no sooner had the first green leaves expanded than myriads of little flea-like beetles devoured them. A timely article in my horticultural paper explained that if little chickens were allowed to run in the garden they would soon destroy these and other insects. Therefore I improvised a coop by laying down a barrel near the radishes and driving stakes in front of it to confine the hen, which otherwise, with the best intentions, would have scratched up all my sprouting seeds. Hither we brought her the following day, with her downy brood of twelve, and they soon began to make themselves useful. Winnie fed them with Indian-meal and mashed potatoes and watched over them with more than their mother's solicitude, while Merton renewed his vigilance against hawks and other enemies.