The yellow corn scattered around;
The waggons, all heavily laden,
Were tracing with furrows the ground.

The farmer stood lazily viewing
The harvesting in of his wheat,
His daughters were standing beside him,
His faithful dog lay at his feet.

There came by a shy little gleaner,
Flaxen-headed, with eyes bright and blue,
And the farmer smiled down, "Little maiden,
Come here--here's a gleaning for you."

[Illustration: THE GLEANER. (_See p. 108._)]

He pulled from the waggon an armful
Of corn; and the gleaner's eyes gleamed:
She dimpled, she flushed, and she curtsied,
Such a great golden treasure it seemed.

"Ay, sowing, and reaping, and harvest,"
The farmer soft spake as she passed,
And he thought of earth's sowing and reaping,
And the harvest that must come at last.

LITTLE MARGARET'S KITCHEN, AND WHAT SHE DID IN IT.--VIII.

_By_ PHILLIS BROWNE, _Author of "A Year's Cookery," "What Girls can Do,"
&c._

When Margaret and Mary entered the kitchen on the day on which the
children were to learn how to bake meat, they found Mrs. Herbert already
there. As usual, everything was laid ready for them. The meat was on a
dish, the tins and various utensils were clean and bright, and there was
a clear bright fire, while a general feeling of warmth and comfort
pervaded everything, which was very agreeable, as it was a cold day.

"You have cleared out the flues properly and cleaned the oven for us, I
hope, cook," said Mrs. Herbert.

"Oh yes, ma'am; it is all as it should be," replied cook, with a
satisfied look as she watched Mrs. Herbert open the oven door, glance
quickly in all the corners, put her hand inside for a moment to test the
heat, then draw it out, and shut the oven door once more.

"That is well," said Mrs. Herbert. "Now remember, children, when you are
going to bake meat, the first thing you have to look after is the
condition of the oven. If the soot has not been swept away from the back
and round about, your oven will not heat satisfactorily, no matter how
much coal you pile on the fire; and if the shelves are dirty, that is,
if a little syrup from the last pie which was baked in it, or splashes
of fat from the last joint, are left to burn on the shelves, the meat
will taste unpleasantly, and very likely be indigestible also."

"But we cannot prevent syrup boiling over," said Margaret.

"Perhaps not