it was such a favourite walk with them that she generally
yielded. The only other way of getting to the farm was by the
high-road, and that was so dreadfully dull! After scrambling along the
lane a little while, you saw the red-brown roofs of the barns and
outbuildings clustering round the house itself, and almost hiding it,
and soon a pleasant confusion of noises met your ear. Ducks quacked,
hens cackled, pigeons perched about on the roofs kept up a monotonous
murmur; then came the deep undertones of the patient cows, and as you
neared the house you could generally hear Mrs Hatchard's voice in her
dairy adding its commanding accents to the medley of sounds. It
certainly was a delightful farm, and David had long ago determined that
when he grew up he would have one just like it, and wear brown leather
gaiters like Farmer Hatchard's. He would also keep pigs like his--quite
black, with very short legs and faces, and tightly curled tails. But
some time must pass before this, and the next best thing was to go as
often as possible to see them, and ask all manner of questions of the
farmer or his men. There was no one in the great wide kitchen when the
party arrived on this occasion, and Miss Grey sat down to wait for Mrs
Hatchard, while the children made their usual tour of admiring
examination. They had seen every object in the room hundreds of times
before, but how interesting they always were! The high-backed settle on
each side of the fire was dark with age, and bright with the toil of
Mrs Hatchard's hands; the heavy oak rafters were so conveniently low
that the children could see the farmer's gun, a bunch of dips, a pair of
clogs, a side of bacon kept there as in a sort of storehouse. At the
end of the room opposite the wide hearth was the long narrow deal table,
where the farmer and his men all dined together at twelve o'clock, for
they were old-fashioned people at Hatchard's Farm; and behind the door
hung the cuckoo clock, before which the children never failed to stand
in open-mouthed expectation if it were near striking the hour. On all
this the sun darted his rays through the low casement, and failed to
find, for all his keen glances, one speck of dust.

Miss Grey sat in the window-seat looking absently out at the marigolds
and asters in the gay garden, when she felt a little hand suddenly
placed in hers, and, turning round, saw David, his face crimson with
suppressed excitement:

"Come," he said, pull