"The Judge reads them," protested David. "He has that same book of fairy stories that Joe gave me." "When you've done all the Jedge has, and git to whar you kin afford to be idle, you kin read any stuff you want ter." "Can't I read them at all?" asked David in alarm. "Of course you kin. I meant, I didn't want you stickin' to 'em like a pup to a root. You're goin' down to the fields to begin work with me this arternoon, and you won't feel much like readin' to-night. I wuz lookin' over them books of your'n last night. Thar's one you'd best start in on right away, and give the fairies a rest." "Which one?" "Life of Lincoln. That'll show you what work will do." "I'll read it aloud to you, Uncle Barnabas." When they reached the bridge that spanned the river Old Hundred dropped the little hurrying gait which he assumed in town, and settled down to his normal, comfortable, country jog. "Uncle Barnabas," said David thoughtfully, "what is your religion?" Barnabas meditated. "Wal, Dave, I don't know as I hev what you might call religion exackly. I b'lieve in payin' a hundred cents on the dollar, and a-helpin' the man that's down, and--wal, I s'pose I come as nigh bein' a Unitarian as anything." The distribution of the purchases now began. Sometimes the good housewife, herself, came out to receive the parcels and to hear the latest news from town. Oftener, the children of the household were the messengers, for Barnabas' pockets were always well filled with candy on town days. At one place Barnabas stopped at a barn by the roadside and surreptitiously deposited a suspicious looking package. When he was in front of the next farmhouse a man came out with anxious mien. "All right, Fred!" hailed Barnabas with a knowing wink. "I was afeerd you'd not be on the watchout. I left it in the manger." They did not reach the farm until the dinner hour, and the conversation was maintained by M'ri and Barnabas on marketing matters. David spent the afternoon in being initiated in field work. At supper, M'ri asked him suddenly: "To whom did you give the flowers, David?" "I've made a story to it, Aunt M'ri, and I'm going to tell it to Janey. Then you can hear." M'ri smiled, and questioned him no further. When the day was done and the "still hour" had come, Janey and David, hand in hand, came around the house and sat down at her feet. It was seldom that any one intruded at this hour, but she knew that David had come to tell his story. "Begin, Davey," urged Janey impatiently.