Beyond stretched field and meadow in early spring verdure. In the furrows of an adjacent field men were already busily employed in sowing seeds, and from a distance could be heard the lowing of cattle, the clucking of hens as they led their chirping broods, the quacking of ducks and geese, the peculiar note of the guinea-fowl, and above them all Chanticleer's shrill but familiar crow. Mary turned from the window with a hasty determination to obtain a closer inspection of these pleasant rural sights and sounds. Dressing herself quickly she descended the stairs, and found every one in the house up and busy except her father and grandfather, although it was not yet half-past six o'clock. Mrs. John Armstrong came forward with surprise to greet the London lady, who could leave her room at such an early hour. "What, up already, Mary?" she said, "I did not expect to see you till nine o'clock." "I rise early at home always," she replied; "papa often leaves for London at half-past eight, and I breakfast with him." "Ah, yes, I forgot that you live at some distance from London now, and therefore our country manners and ways are not quite new to you." "It is very pleasant country where we live, but not so rural as this," said Mary; and then, as she observed her cousin take some barley from a bin in the outer kitchen, she exclaimed, "Oh, cousin Sarah, if you are going to feed the chickens, do let me go with you, I am longing to see the farmyard, and I can carry something for you." "Of course you shall go, my dear; I shall be glad to have you. Ned and Jack are away at school now in Southampton, and I miss their help very much." Mary was soon loaded with a basket containing provision for the farmyard pensioners, and while they walked she asked many questions about her cousins John and Edward, boys of eleven and fifteen, cousin Sarah's only surviving children. But the strange farmyard scenes soon occupied all Mary's attention. Never in her life had she seen so many geese, ducks, chickens, and pigeons, and until they were all fed and satisfied nothing else could be attempted. At length Mary was at liberty to look round her. The farmyard was surrounded by barns, stables for horses and cattle, waggon-sheds, hen and pigeon-houses, rabbit-hutches, and a pond in the centre, by no means small, for the ducks and geese, near which stood their comfortable nests. "The man is going to feed the pigs, Mary," said her cousin; "their sties are at the back of the stables, opening into a field."