PART II.

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.

CHAPTER I.

NELLY.

In the early autumn, on a lovely afternoon, a little girl sat upon the stile which led from a spacious farmyard into a field of newly-mown wheat.  In her hand she held a long switch, and her business was to watch the motions of a large flock of fowls, which, as is usual at harvest-time, had been kept in their coop all day, and only let out for an hour or two, just before sunset, to run about in the grassy yard, seeking bugs and worms, or other dainties, which they alone know how to find.

Of course they could not be allowed in the field before the grain had been safely garnered, so Nelly had been permitted to mount guard upon the stile, the better to observe and control them.  She quite felt the importance of the trust, and, holding her switch as proudly as if it had been a sceptre, was eager and quick to discover occasions to use it.  Many a staid and demure-looking hen, or saucy, daring young chicken, had stolen quite near to her post, stopping every few moments to peer cautiously around, or to peck at a blade of grass or an imaginary worm, as if quite indifferent to the attractions presented by the field beyond, but just as they had come close to the fence, thinking themselves unnoticed, Nelly would jump from her perch, and, with a thwack of the switch, send them squawking back to their companions.  At length, however, the child seemed to grow weary of her task.  Slowly descending to the ground, she walked toward the barn, and, returning with her apron full of corn, opened the door of the chicken-house, and, having enticed her charge within, shut them up for the night.  This done, Nelly wandered aimlessly about for a while, then, sitting down upon a large stone, which seemed to have been rolled under a tree just to make a nice seat, she looked around in an impatient and discontented manner.  The sights and sounds which surrounded her were very pleasant, and—­one would have imagined—­exceedingly attractive to a child.  The rays of the declining sun, slanting across the grassy yard, brightened up the low, brown farm-house until the old-fashioned glass door and latticed windows on either side seemed as if brilliantly lighted from within.  One might easily have imagined it an enchanted castle.  The mossy roof looked as if gilded.  In front of the house the well-bucket, hanging high upon the sweep, seemed dropping gold into the depths beneath.  On the porch, upon a table scrubbed “white as the driven snow,” were set the bright tin pans ready to receive the evening’s milk.  Within the house the maids were singing gayly as they passed to and fro preparing a substantial supper for the farmer.  Outside, the creaking wagons were being driven into the barn-yard.  Gentle oxen, released from their daily toil, stood patiently waiting to be fed.  Horses, with a great deal of stamping and fuss, were led into the barn.  Up the lane came the cow-boy, alternately whistling, singing, and cracking his whip, until at length the drove of sweet-breathed cows stood lowing at the bars, which, at milking-time, would be let down for them to pass each to her own stall.