asily,--only see!" She gave a little push, and propelled herself
half way across the little room.

At this moment the inner door opened, and Mrs. Chirk appeared,--a
slender, anxious-looking woman, with hair prematurely gray. She greeted
Hilda with nervous cordiality, and thanked her earnestly for her
kindness to Zerubbabel. "He ain't the same boy, Miss Graham," she said,
"sence you begun givin' him lessons. He used to fret and worrit 'cause
there warn't no school, and he couldn't ha' gone to it if there was.
Pinkrosia learned him what she could; but we hain't many books, you see.
But now! why that boy comes into the house singin' and spoutin' poetry
at the top of his lungs,--jest as happy as a kitten with a spool. What
was that he was shoutin' this mornin', Pinkrosia, when he scairt the old
black hen nigh to death?"

"'Charge for the golden lilies! Upon them with the lance!'" murmured
Pink, with a smile.

"Yes, that was it!" said Mrs. Chirk. "He was lookin' out of the window
and pumpin' at the same time, an' spoutin' them verses too. And all of a
sudden he cries out, 'Ther's the brood of dark My Hen, scratchin' up the
sweet peas. Upon them with the lance!' And he lets go the pump-handle,
and it flies up and hits the shelf and knocks off two plates and a cup,
and Bubble, he's off with the mop-handle, chasin' the old black hen and
makin' believe run her through, till she e'enamost died of fright. Well,
there, it give me a turn; it reelly did!" She paused rather sadly,
seeing that her hearers were both overcome with laughter.

"I--I am very sorry, Mrs. Chirk, that the plates were broken," said
Hilda; "but it must have been extremely funny. Poor old hen! she must
have been frightened, certainly. Do you know," she added, "I think
Bubble is a _remarkably_ bright boy. I am very sure that he will make a
name for himself, if only he can have proper training."

"Presume likely!" said Mrs. Chirk, with melancholy satisfaction. "His
father was a _real_ smart man. There warn't no better hayin' hand in the
county than Loammi Chirk. And I'm in hopes Zerubbabel will do as well,
for he has a good friend in Farmer Hartley; no boy couldn't have a
better."

Eminence in the profession of "haying" was not precisely what Hilda had
meant; but she said nothing.

"And my poor girl here," Mrs. Chirk continued after a pause, "she sets
in her cheer hay-times and other times. You've heard of her misfortune,
Miss Graham?"

Pink interposed qu