cheese-press, turned a crank, and weighed
it down with a flatiron. There, that is the way to make a cheese. When
it came out of the press it was a perfect little beauty, white, with
irregular spots of green, like the streaks in marble cake. I knew then
how that greedy Harry felt, in the story, when his mother sent him a
plum cake, and he couldn't wait for a knife, but "gnawed it like a
little dog."

Of course I did not gnaw the cheese, but I did want to have it cut
open, to see if it tasted like any other I ever ate. But cousin Lydia
covered it with tissue paper, and oiled it, and set it in a safe, and
every day she oiled it again, and turned it. I would have spent half
my time looking at it, only she said I must not open the dairy-room
door to let the flies in.

CHAPTER IX.

"WAXERATION."

Still, in spite of cheeses, beehives, bossies, and kittens, I had many
lonesome hours, and sometimes cried after I went to bed. Samantha must
have known it, for I slept with her; I was afraid to sleep alone.

There were times when I thought I would start off secretly, and go
home on foot. I asked the hired man how long he supposed it would take
a little girl to walk to Willowbrook, and what were the chances of her
getting lost if she should try it? I thought I spoke in such a guarded
way that Seth would not have the least idea what I meant; but he must
have been very quick-witted, for he understood in a minute. He did
not let me know it, though, and only answered coolly,--

"Wal, I should think now it would take her about a week's steady
travel, and no knowing but she'd starve to death on the road. Why,
_you_ hain't heerd of a little gal that thinks of such a thing, I
hope?"

"No; I don't see many little girls," said I, with a dismal sigh; "they
don't have anything here but bossies and horses."

I did not know, till Seth nipped it in the bud, what a sweet hope I
had been cherishing. Should I truly starve to death if I took my
little cheese in a basket on my arm, and some doughnuts and
turn-overs? But no, it would be stealing to take things out of cousin
Lydia's cupboard, and run off with them. I would rather stay at
Bloomingdale and suffer, than be a thief.

I know now that Seth told cousin Lydia what I said to him, and her
kind heart was touched. I am sure she must have had a hard time with
me, for she knew nothing about children, and was as busy as she could
be with her dairy and her "fall work." I ought not to