?" and Thorny stood up, won by his sister's
sweet earnestness, but very doubtful of his own success with the "horsey
fellow."

"Waiting with the chair. Randa has gone on with the hammock. Be a dear
boy, and I'll do as much for you some day."

"Don't see how you can be a dear boy. You're the best sister that ever
was; so I'll love all the scallywags you ask me to."

With a laugh and a kiss, Thorny shambled off to ascend his chariot,
good-humoredly saluting his pusher, whom he found sitting on the high
rail behind, with his feet on Sanch.

"Drive on, Benjamin. I don't know the way, so I can't direct. Don't
spill me out,--that's all I've got to say."

"All right, sir,"--and away Ben trundled down the long walk that led
through the orchard to a little grove of seven pines.

A pleasant spot; for a soft rustle filled the air, a brown carpet of
pine needles, with fallen cones for a pattern, lay under foot; and over
the tops of the tall brakes that fringed the knoll one had glimpses of
hill and valley, farm-houses and winding river, like a silver ribbon
through the low, green meadows.

"A regular summer house!" said Thorny, surveying it with approval.
"What's the matter, Randa? Won't it do?" he asked, as the stout maid
dropped her arms with a puff, after vainly trying to throw the hammock
rope over a branch.

"That end went up beautiful, but this one won't; the branches is so
high, I can't reach 'em; and I'm no hand at flinging ropes round."

"I'll fix it;" and Ben went up the pine like a squirrel, tied a stout
knot, and swung himself down again before Thorny could get out of the
chair.

"My patience, what a spry boy!" exclaimed Randa, admiringly.

"That 's nothing; you ought to see me shin up a smooth tent-pole," said
Ben, rubbing the pitch off his hands, with a boastful wag of the head.

"You can go, Randa. Just hand me my cushion and books, Ben; then you can
sit in the chair while I talk to you," commanded Thorny, tumbling into
the hammock.

"What's he goin' to say to me?" wondered Ben to himself, as he sat down
with Sanch sprawling among the wheels.

"Now, Ben, I think you'd better learn a hymn; I always used to when I
was a little chap, and it is a good thing to do Sundays," began the new
teacher, with a patronizing air, which ruffled his pupil as much as the
opprobrious term "little chap."

"I'll be--whew--if I do!" whistled Ben, stopping an oath just in
time.

"It is not polite to whistle in com