must we talk
about?'

'I don't know. How old are you?'

'Seventeen last May. How old are you?'

'I am nineteen. Older than you by nearly two years,' said I, drawing
myself up to my full height.

'I should not have thought you were above sixteen,' she replied, as
quietly as if she were not saying the most provoking thing she possibly
could. Then came a pause.

'What are you going to do now?' asked I.

'I should be dusting the bed-chambers; but mother said I had better
stay and make it pleasant to you,' said she, a little plaintively, as
if dusting rooms was far the easiest task.

'Will you take me to see the live-stock? I like animals, though I don't
know much about them.'

'Oh, do you? I am so glad! I was afraid you would not like animals, as
you did not like books.'

I wondered why she said this. I think it was because she had begun to
fancy all our tastes must be dissimilar. We went together all through
the farm-yard; we fed the poultry, she kneeling down with her pinafore
full of corn and meal, and tempting the little timid, downy chickens
upon it, much to the anxiety of the fussy ruffled hen, their mother.
She called to the pigeons, who fluttered down at the sound of her
voice. She and I examined the great sleek cart-horses; sympathized in
our dislike of pigs; fed the calves; coaxed the sick cow, Daisy; and
admired the others out at pasture; and came back tired and hungry and
dirty at dinner-time, having quite forgotten that there were such
things as dead languages, and consequently capital friends.

PART II

Cousin Holman gave me the weekly county newspaper to read aloud to her,
while she mended stockings out of a high piled-up basket, Phillis
helping her mother. I read and read, unregardful of the words I was
uttering, thinking of all manner of other things; of the bright colour
of Phillis's hair, as the afternoon sun fell on her bending head; of
the silence of the house, which enabled me to hear the double tick of
the old clock which stood half-way up the stairs; of the variety of
inarticulate noises which cousin Holman made while I read, to show her
sympathy, wonder, or horror at the newspaper intelligence. The tranquil
monotony of that hour made me feel as if I had lived for ever, and
should live for ever droning out paragraphs in that warm sunny room,
with my two quiet hearers, and the curled-up pussy cat sleeping on the
hearth-rug, and the clock on the house-stairs perpetually clicking