t, he'd wait
till Star was drawin' good an' solid, an' then he'd as much as say, 'Oh!
you kin pull all that, kin ye? Well, stick to it, my boy, an' I'll
manage to trifle along with the rest o' the load.' Wo-_hoish_, Star!
haw, Bright! git up, ye old humbug! You're six year old now, an' you
ain't changed a mite in four years, though I've drove you stiddy, and
tried to spare the other every time."

The green lane broke off suddenly, and such a blaze of sunlight flashed
upon them that Hilda involuntarily raised her hand to shield her eyes.
The great meadow lay open before them, an undulating plain of gold. The
haycocks looked dull and gray-green upon it; but where the men were
tossing the hay with their long wooden rakes, it flashed pale-golden in
the sunlight, and filled the air with flying gleams. Also the air was
filled with the sweetness of the hay, and every breath was a delight.
Hilda stood speechless with pleasure, and the old farmer watched her
glowing face with kindly gratification.

"Pooty sightly, ain't it?" he said. And then, in a graver tone, and
removing his battered straw hat, "I don't never seem to see the glory
of the Lord no plainer than in a hay-field, a day like this. Yes, sir!
if a man can't be a Christian on a farm in summer, he can't be it
nowhere. Amen!" and Farmer Hartley put on his hat and proceeded
straightway to business. "Now, Huldy," he said, "here ye be! I'm goin'
to load up this riggin', an' ye kin stay round here a spell, if ye like,
an' run home _when_ ye like. Ye kin find the way, I reckon?"

"Oh, yes!" said Hilda; "yes, indeed! But I shall stay here for a while,
and watch you. And mayn't I toss the hay too a little?"

But her courage failed when she found that to do this she must mingle
with the crowd of strange haymakers; and besides, among them she saw the
clumsy form and shock head of Caliban, as she had secretly named the
clownish and surly nephew of her good host. This fellow was the one
bitter drop in Hilda's cup. Everything else she had learned to like, in
the month which had passed since she came to Hartley's Glen. The farmer
and his wife she loved as they deserved to be loved. The little
maidservant was her adoring slave, and secretly sewed her boot-buttons
on, and mended her stockings, as some small return for the lessons in
crochet and fancy knitting that she had received from the skilful white
fingers which were a perpetual marvel to her. But Simon Hartley remained
what s