“Papa wouldn’t mind,” answered Queenie, quickly; “he lets me do as I like. It’s only mamma who is so tiresome. Mamma wanted me never to go out alone, even in the garden, but papa said it was all nonsense, and that I might. I love papa twice as much as mamma. He’s just given me a pony to ride—such a pretty little pony, brown, with black legs! Would you like to come and see him?” Bertie’s eyes were shining with a strange light. “Yes,” he answered. “I should like it very much. I think—I must have had a pony—once.” “Did you?” questioned Queenie, eagerly. “Oh, if you can ride, we can go out together sometimes. I’ll get papa to say we may. Now come and see my pony. Mamma is out, and papa won’t mind a bit if he does see you.” Queenie had climbed the sunk fence once before Bertie had joined her, and had put the great trunk of the oak tree between herself and the chance of pursuit by nurse or any other attendant; but now she was eager to retrace her steps, and to display to her new companion the possessions of which she was most proud. Bertie followed her willingly enough. He felt sure, after what the Squire had said, that he would not object, and as for Queenie’s odd statements regarding her relations with her parents, the little boy did not profess to understand them, nor did he, at the present stage of their acquaintance, feel called upon to interfere or criticise. Queenie’s fearless gaiety of manner exercised a certain fascination upon him, and he was quite ready to let her take the lead, whilst he humbly followed in her wake. They climbed the sunk fence together, and then Queenie took his hand protectingly and led him up the meadow towards the back of the house. “We will go round by the farm first,” said Queenie. “I will show you my chickens.” The farmyard was certainly an attractive spot, and the little mistress was evidently a great favorite with all the men employed there. Hard, stolid faces smiled kindly upon the two children, and rough hands were eager and willing to do their bidding, whatever it might be. Queenie talked to the laborers with her little air of stately affability that impressed Bertie very much. He was inclined to be shy and silent himself; but the little girl did not know what shyness meant, and chattered away to him and to every one who came near them in a way that evidently made her an immense favorite. The chickens were very sweet indeed, little fluffy balls of yellow and black. Bertie was delighted with them, and the children spent a good half-hour in the poultry yard, feeding the fowls and laughing at their funny ways. “I’ll give you some chickens if you like, when they’re big enough to leave the hen,” said Queenie, who loved to patronize. “I think the Squire has plenty of his own, thank you,” answered Bertie. “I don’t know if he’d care for me to have any more.” “Do you like his yard as well as ours?” asked Queenie, rather jealously. “I don’t know. I’ve never been there.” “Never been! Why not?”