country. After his father's death he had come, a little lad, to live
with Mr. Hawthorne, and every year which had elapsed since then made it
grow more dear. He loved its rolling meadows, its breezy pastures and
its fragrant orchards. Its beautifully kept grounds and outbuildings
appealed to his innate sense of the fitness of things, while its air of
abundant comfort made it difficult to realize that the world was full of
hunger and woe. He loved the green road where the wild roses blushed and
the honeysuckle drooped its fragrant petals, but most of all he loved
the graceful horses and sleek cows which just now were grazing in the
fields on either side; and the shy creatures, with the subtle instinct
by which all animals test the quality of human friendship, took him into
their confidence and came gladly at his call and did his bidding.

When he reached the end of the road he stopped again, and, leaning
against the fence adjoining the broad gate which led to the house, gave
a low whistle. A thoroughbred Jersey, feeding some distance away, lifted
her head and listened. Again he whistled, and with soft, slow tread the
cow came towards him and rubbed her nose against his arm. He took her
head between his hands, her clover-laden breath fanning his cheeks, and
looked at the dark muzzle and the large eyes, almost human in their
tenderness.

"Well, Primrose, old lady, you're as dainty as your namesake, and as
sweet. Ah, Sylph, you beauty!" he continued, as a calf like a young fawn
approached the gate, "you can't rest away from your mammy, can you?
Primrose, have you any aspirations, or are you content simply to eat and
drink? You have a good time of it now, but what if you were kicked and
cuffed and starved? You are sensitive, for I saw you shrink and shiver
when Bill Wright,--the scoundrel!--dared to strike you. He'll never do
it again, Prim! Have you the taste of an epicure for the juicy grass