ut"--and here Bert hesitated as if
afraid to finish his remark.

"But what, Bert?" asked Mrs. Lloyd. "What were you going to say when you
stopped?"

"I don't like grandpapa, mother," said Bert, after a little pause,
bringing the words out slowly, and then adding, almost in a whisper,
"I'm afraid of grandpapa, mother."

"Hush, Bert. You shouldn't say that you don't like your grandfather.
But, tell me, why are you afraid of him?"

"Oh, because he seems so cross, and isn't kind to me like the others."

"But he isn't really cross, Bert. He loves you quite as much as the
others do, but then he is an old man and has a great deal to think
about. Now, Bert darling, I want you to learn to love your grandpapa,
and to try and never be any bother to him. You will, won't you?"

"I'll try not to be a bother to him, mother, but I don't think it's much
use my trying to love him unless he stops looking so cross."

"Well, try your best, at all events, Bert," said Mrs. Lloyd, giving her
son a tender kiss. "And now come, let's see if we can find
grandmother."

CHAPTER VII.

COUNTRY EXPERIENCES.

Bert had come to Maplebank just in time for the haying season. The long
slopes of upland and the level stretches of intervale waved before the
breeze their russet and green wealth, awaiting the summons of the scythe
and reaper. A number of extra hands had been hired to help in gathering
the crop, which this year was unusually abundant, and a few days after
Bert's coming the attack was begun.

The mowing machine had not yet reached Maplebank. The papers were
talking about it a good deal, but Squire Stewart was not the man to
quickly adopt new inventions, and nobody else in the neighbourhood could
afford to do so. Consequently, the West River Valley still continued to
witness the good, old-fashioned way of mowing with the scythe; and Bert,
accompanying Uncle Alec to the field, was filled with admiration for the
stalwart "Rorys" and "Donalds" and "Sandys" as they strode along through
the thick grass, cutting a wide swath before them. There was something
in the work that appealed to the boy's bump of destructiveness, and
filled him with eagerness to join in it.

"Oh, Uncle Alec, mayn't I mow?" he asked.

"Certainly, Bert, if you know how; but if you don't, I wouldn't advise
you to try it," was the smiling reply.

Not at all discouraged, Bert waited patiently until one of the mowers
stopped to sharpen his scythe, and then stepp