the smell of the apple-bloom and pear from the little orchard behind the
house. The bees were already humming about the straw-bound hives along
the garden wall, and a misguided green woodpecker clung upside down to
the eaves, and thumped at the beams of the house.

It was very still there in the gray of the dawn. He could hear the rush
of the water through the sedge in the mill-race, and then, all at once,
the roll of the wheel, the low rumble of the mill-gear, and the cool
whisper of the wind in the willows.

When he went back into the house again the painted cloths upon the wall
seemed dingier than ever compared with the clean, bright world outside.
The sky-blue coat of the Prodigal Son was brown with the winter's smoke;
the Red Sea towered above Pharaoh's ill-starred host like an inky
mountain; and the homely maxims on the next breadth--"Do no Wrong,"
"Beware of Sloth," "Overcome Pride," and "Keep an Eye on the
Pence"--could scarcely be read.

Nick jumped up on the three-legged stool and began to take them down.
The nails were crooked and jammed in the wall, and the last came out
with an unexpected jerk. Losing his balance, Nick caught at the
table-board which leaned against the wall; but the stool capsized, and
he came down on the floor with such a flap of tapestry that the ashes
flew out all over the room.

He sat up dazed, and rubbed his elbows, then looked around and began to
laugh.

He could hear heavy footsteps overhead. A door opened, and his father's
voice called sternly from the head of the stair: "What madcap folly art