iends for the
taste and artistic skill with which he had laid out his grounds, he
always pointed to his wife, saying,--

"There is the artist. I only followed her suggestions."

It was true that though the lady was opposed to building a house that
would be grand and imposing, she was desirous of improving to the
utmost the natural beauties which surrounded them. She drew a plan for
the boat-house, which was not only useful, but extremely picturesque.
The hennery too, and the conservatory, were highly ornamental,
distributed as they were about the grounds;--but it is too early to
speak of these, which were not finished till another year.

I must go back and tell you about Bertie's visit to Woodlawn, and how he
learned to make trenches.

Directly after family prayers, which Mr. Curtis always attended with the
farmer's family, Bertie read a chapter in his small Bible with his
mamma; and she explained the meaning to him in such simple words that
even little Winnie could learn something of God's will. Sometimes they
sung a hymn; and then the little fellow started off with his donkey for
the new house.

If he were going to be there several hours, he used to take the harness
from Whitefoot and turn him into a field where he could find plenty of
sweet, tender grass. But when he expected to return in an hour or two,
he left the creature standing under the shade of a tree.

When he drove through the field on this pleasant afternoon, he did not
forget that he had promised Jerry a ride. He jumped out of the carriage,
and looked about; but the boy was nowhere to be seen. He tied Whitefoot
to the tree and ran to the cellar. The stone-masons were at their work.
One side of the wall was nearly completed, and at this moment they were
hammering away to get a large stone ready to fit into its place.

"Do you know where my papa is?" he asked one of the masons.

"He's gone off to the lake with Tom Grant."

"Is Tom coming back with his oxen?"

"Yes, I heard him driving them by a few minutes ago. He'll be back
presently."

"Thank you, sir. May I go there and see you work till he comes?"

"Yes, I'm willing. The Squire is the owner here."

Bertie ran around by the bulkhead and soon was standing by the
stonelayer in the cellar. He didn't speak until they had finished
lifting the heavy stone into its place. He stood and watched them,
wondering whether he should ever be strong enough to lift so much.

"I don't think I should like