ble, "nice kind o folks they must ha' been. Well, I
must go, Miss Hildy," he added, reluctantly. "I've had a splendid time,
an' I'm _real_ obleeged to ye. I sh'll try to larn that story by heart,
'bout the bold Buckle-oh. I want to tell it to Pink! _She_'d like
it--oh, my! wouldn't she like it, jest like--I mean jest like spellin'!
Good by, Miss Hildy!" And Bubble ran off to bring home the cows, his
little heart swelling high with scorn of kings and queens, and with a
fervor of devotion to Walter Scott, first lord of Buccleugh.

CHAPTER VII.

PINK CHIRK.

One lovely morning Hildegarde stood at the back door, feeding the fowls.
She wore her brown gingham frock with the yellow daisies on it, and the
daisy-wreathed hat, and in her hands she held a great yellow bowl full
of yellow corn. So bright a picture she made that Farmer Hartley,
driving the oxen afield, stopped for pure pleasure to look at her.
Around her the ducks and hens were fighting and squabbling, quacking,
clucking, and gobbling, and she flung the corn in golden showers on
their heads and backs, making them nearly frantic with greedy anxiety.

[Illustration: "SHE FLUNG THE CORN IN GOLDEN SHOWERS ON THEIR HEADS."]

"Wal, Huldy," said the farmer, leaning against Bright's massive side,
"you look pooty slick in that gown, I must say. I reckon thar ain't no
sech gown as _that_ on Fifth Avenoo, hey?"

"Indeed, I don't believe there is, Farmer Hartley," replied Hilda,
laughing merrily; "at least I never saw one like it. It _is_ pretty, I
think, and _so_ comfortable! And where are you going this morning with
the mammoths?"

"Down to the ten-acre lot," replied the farmer. "The men are makin' hay
thar to-day. Jump into the riggin' and come along," he added. "Ye kin
hev a little ride, an' see the hay-makin'. Pooty sight 'tis, to my
thinkin'."

"May I?" cried Hilda, eagerly. "I am sure these fowls have had enough.
Go away now, you greedy creatures! There, you shall have all there is!"
and she emptied the bowl over the astonished dignitaries of the
barn-yard, laid it down on the settle in the porch, and jumped gayly
into the "rigging," as the great hay-cart was called.

"Haw, Bright! hoish, Star!" said the farmer, touching one and then the
other of the great black oxen lightly with his goad. The huge beasts
swayed from side to side, and finally succeeded in getting themselves
and the cart in motion, while the farmer walked leisurely beside them,
tapping