Aunt Hannah and Seth

"Of course you won't continue your journey until after breakfast," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "and Gladys will take you into the kitchen where you can wash your face and hands, while I am milking."

Then it was that Seth observed a bright tin pail and a three-legged stool lying on the ground just outside the big door, as if they had fallen from the little woman's hands when she was alarmed by hearing Snip's note of defiance and warning.

Gladys had the dog in her arms, and nodding to Seth as if to say he should follow, she led the way to the house, while Aunt Hannah disappeared through a doorway opening from the main portion of the barn.

"There's the towel, the soap and water," she said, pointing toward a wooden sink in one corner of what was to Seth the most wonderful kitchen he had ever seen. "Don't you think Snippey would like some milk?"

"I'm certain he would," Seth replied promptly. "He hasn't had anything except dry ginger cake since yesterday mornin'."

A moment later Master Snip had before him a saucer filled with such milk as it is safe to say he had not seen since Seth took him in charge, and the eager way in which he lapped it showed that it was appreciated fully.

The fugitive did not make his toilet immediately, because of the irresistible temptation to gaze about him.

The walls of the kitchen were low; but in the newcomer's eyes this was an added attraction, because it gave to the room such an hospitable appearance. The floor was more cleanly than any table he had ever seen; the bricks of the fireplace, at one side of which stood a small cook-stove, were as red as if newly painted; while on the dresser and the mantel across the broad chimney were tin dishes that shone like newly polished silver.

A large rocking-chair, a couch covered with chintz, and half a dozen straight-backed, spider-legged chairs were ranged methodically along the sides of the room, while in the centre of the floor, so placed that the fresh morning breeze which entered by the door would blow straight across it to the window shaded by lilac bushes, was a table covered with a snowy cloth.

"Well, if this is a farmer's house I wouldn't wonder if a good bit of Pip Smith's yarn was true," Seth muttered to himself, as he turned toward the sink, over which hung a towel so white that he could hardly believe he would be allowed to dry his face and hands with it.

He was alone in the kitchen. Snip, having had a most satisfactory breakfast of what he must have believed was real cream, had run out of doors to chase a leaf blown by the wind, and Gladys was close behind, alternately urging him in the pursuit, and showering praises upon "the sweetest dog that ever lived."

"Folks that live like this must be mighty rich," Seth thought, as he plunged his face into a basin of clear water. "It ain't likely Snip an' me will strike it so soft again, an' I expect he'll be terrible sorry to leave. I reckon it'll be all right to hang 'round an hour or so, an' then we must get out lively. I wonder if that little bit of a woman expects I'll pay for breakfast?"

CHAPTER III.

AUNT HANNAH

With a broken comb, which he used upon Snip's hair as well as his own, Seth concluded his toilet, and, neither the little woman nor the girl having returned to the house, stood in the doorway gazing out upon as peaceful a scene as a boy pursued by the officers of the law could well desire to see.

On either hand ran the dusty road, not unlike a yellow ribbon upon a cloth of green, and bordering it here and there were clumps of bushes or groves of pine or of oak, as if planted for the especial purpose of affording to the weary traveller a screen from the blinding sun.

The little farmhouse stood upon the height of a slight elevation from which could be had a view of the country round about on either hand; and although so near to the great city, there were no settlements, villages, or towns to be seen.

Surely, the lad said to himself, he had at last arrived at "the country," and if all houses were as hospitable-looking, as cleanly, and as inviting in appearance as was this one, then Pip Smith's story had in it considerably more than a grain of truth.

"It must be mighty nice to have money enough to live in a place like this," Seth said to himself. "It would please Snip way down to the ground; but I mustn't think of it, 'cause there's no chance for a feller like me to earn a livin' here, an' we can't always count on folks givin' us what we need to eat."

Then Aunt Hannah came out from the barn, carrying in one hand a glistening tin pail filled with foaming milk, and in the other the three-legged stool.

Seth ran toward her and held out his hand as if believing she would readily yield at least a portion of her burden; but she shook her head smiling.

"Bless your heart, my child, I ought to be able to carry one pail of milk, seeing that I've done as much or more every day since I was Gladys's age."

"But that's no reason why I shouldn't help along a little to make up for your not bein' mad 'cause Snip an' me slept in the barn. Besides, I'd like to say to the fellers that I'd carried as much milk as a whole pail full once in my life – that is, if I ever see 'em again," he added with a sigh.

"Then you came from the city?"

"Yes, an' I never got so far out in the country before. Say, it's mighty fine, ain't it?" And as Aunt Hannah relinquished her hold on the pail, Seth started toward the house without waiting for a reply to his question.

After placing the stool bottom up by the side of the broad stone which served as doorstep, the little woman called to Gladys:

"It's time White-Face was taken to pasture, child."

"Do you mean the cow?" Seth asked.

"Yes, dear."

"Why can't I take her to the pasture; that is, if you'll tell me where to find it?"

"Unfasten her chain, and she will show you the way. It's only across the road over yonder."

Seth ran quickly to the barn, and having arrived at the doorway through which Aunt Hannah disappeared when she went about the task of milking, he halted in surprise and fear, looking at what seemed to him an enormous beast with long, threatening horns, which she shook now and then in what appeared to be a most vicious fashion.

Only once before had Seth ever seen an animal of this species, and then it was when he and Pip Smith had travelled over to the Erie Yards to see a drove of oxen taken from the cars to the abattoir.

It surely seemed very dangerous to turn loose such a huge beast; but Seth was determined to perform whatsoever labor lay in his power, with the idea that he might not be called upon to pay quite as much for breakfast, and, summing up all his courage, he advanced toward the cow.

She shook her head restively, impatient for the breakfast of sweet grass, and he leaped back suddenly, frightened as badly of her as Aunt Hannah had been of Snip.

Once more he made an attempt, and once more leaped back in alarm, this time to be greeted with a peal of merry laughter, and a volley of shrill barks from Snip, who probably fancied Seth stood in need of his protection.

"Why did you jump so?" Gladys asked merrily.

Seth's face reddened, and he stammered not a little in reply:

"I reckon that cow would make it kind'er lively for strangers, wouldn't he?"

"And you are really afraid of poor old White-Face? Why, she's as gentle as Snippey, though of course you couldn't pet her so much."

Then Gladys stepped boldly forward, and Snip whined and barked in a perfect spasm of fear at being carried so near the formidable-looking animal.

"Now, you are just as foolish as your master," Gladys said with a hearty laugh; but she allowed the dog to slip down from her arms, and as he sought safety behind his master, she unloosened the chain from the cow's neck, leading her by the horn out of the barn.

Then it was that Snip plucked up courage to join the girl who had been so kind to him, and Seth, thoroughly ashamed at having betrayed so much cowardice, followed his example.

"I want to do something toward paying for my breakfast," he said hesitatingly; "but I never saw a cow before, and that one acted as if he was up to mischief. I s'pose they're a good deal like dogs – all right after a feller gets acquainted with 'em."

"Some cows are ugly, I suppose," Gladys replied reflectively, taking Snip once more in her arms as the little fellow hung back in alarm when White-Face stopped to gather a tempting bunch of clover; "but Aunt Hannah has had this one ever since she was a calf, and we two are great friends. She's a real well-behaved cow, an' never makes any trouble about going into pasture. There, she's in now, and all we've got to do is to put up the bars. By the time we get back breakfast will be ready. Did you walk all the way from the city?"

There was no necessity for Seth to make a reply, because at this instant an audacious wren flew past within a dozen inches of Snip's nose, causing him to spring from the girl's arms in a vain pursuit, which was not ended until the children were at the kitchen door.

The morning meal was prepared, and as Gladys drew out a chair to show Seth where he should sit, Aunt Hannah asked anxiously:

"What does the dog do while you are eating?"

"You'll see how well he can behave himself," Snip's master replied proudly, as the little fellow laid down on the floor at a respectful distance from the table.

Much to Seth's surprise, instead of immediately beginning the meal, the little woman bowed her head reverentially, Gladys following the example, and for the first time in his life did the boy hear a blessing invoked upon the food of which he was about to partake.