he also wrote out a list of questions
suggested by their perusal, which I was to pass on in my answers to
Holdsworth, until I thought of suggesting direct correspondence between
the two. That was the state of things as regarded the absent one when I
went to the farm for my Easter visit, and when I found Phillis in that
state of shy reserve towards me which I have named before. I thought
she was ungrateful; for I was not quite sure if I had done wisely in
having told her what I did. I had committed a fault, or a folly,
perhaps, and all for her sake; and here was she, less friends with me
than she had even been before. This little estrangement only lasted a
few hours. I think that as Soon as she felt pretty sure of there being
no recurrence, either by word, look, or allusion, to the one subject
that was predominant in her mind, she came back to her old sisterly
ways with me. She had much to tell me of her own familiar interests;
how Rover had been ill, and how anxious they had all of them been, and
how, after some little discussion between her father and her, both
equally grieved by the sufferings of the old dog, he had been
remembered in the household prayers', and how he had begun to get
better only the very next day, and then she would have led me into a
conversation on the right ends of prayer, and on special providences,
and I know not what; only I 'jibbed' like their old cart-horse, and
refused to stir a step in that direction. Then we talked about the
different broods of chickens, and she showed me the hens that were good
mothers, and told me the characters of all the poultry with the utmost
good faith; and in all good faith I listened, for I believe there was a
good deal of truth in all she said. And then we strolled on into the
wood beyond the ash-meadow, and both of us sought for early primroses,
and the fresh green crinkled leaves. She was not afraid of being alone
with me after the first day. I never saw her so lovely, or so happy. I
think she hardly knew why she was so happy all the time. I can see her
now, standing under the budding branches of the grey trees, over which
a tinge of green seemed to be deepening day after day, her sun-bonnet
fallen back on her neck, her hands full of delicate wood-flowers, quite
unconscious of my gaze, but intent on sweet mockery of some bird in
neighbouring bush or tree. She had the art of warbling, and replying to
the notes of different birds, and knew their song, their habits