Tired with the day’s fatigue and grief, the child did not wake until the wagon halted at Mrs Crowdie’s door, when, seeing everything new and strange, she cried a little for her mother, but was easily soothed, and, on supper appearing, she forgot her little sorrows in satisfying her appetite. Though Mrs Crowdie had much to do “in settin things to richts,” as she termed it, about the house, and scolded the man-servant for “thinkin mair o’ what he saw at the fair than o’ his wark,” she found time to lavish much attention on the waif, so curiously left on her hands, and beguiled the smiles to her cheeks by kindly arts. When it grew dark, she cried for her mother, but accepting Mrs Crowdie’s promise that “she would see her the morn,” and that she would “let pooshack sleep with her,” she lisped her artless prayer at her knee and, laid in bed, dropped into the land of Nod with her arms around Mrs Crowdie’s big black cat. A NEEBOR LADDIE. Little Roose was up by times next morning, and thought it grand fun to help Mrs Crowdie to milk, to feed the poultry, and to get breakfast ready. Everything was new to her, and enjoyed with such a zest as to show that it was her first taste of country-life. To keep her company, Mrs Crowdie had sent word to her neighbors to let their son come and play with her, and by-and-by Johnnie made his appearance, and the two had a rare time of it. It was in the afternoon, when, tired with play, and to rest and enjoy the pieces Mrs Crowdie gave each of them, they snuggled down behind a clump of bushes in the orchard. “When I’m a man, Roose, I’ll have sugar on my bread like this all the time.” “When you’re a man, will you have a horse?” “Yes; two of them and whiskers too.” “And a farm like this?” “A bigger farm than this, an’ a big house an’ a buggy, an’ pigs an’ sheep an’ hens.” “And may I come to see you?” “You’ll milk the cows and make butter.” “Will it be long time ’fore you’re a man?” “When I’m growed; two or three year; I’m six now.” “How do cows make butter?” “My, don’t you know? It ain’t the cows that make the butter, it’s the girls.” “And will you show me when I’m big?” “Yes, an lots o’ things.” “My mama has no cows.” “Ain’t she! Why, my dad has lots o’ em and a bull, too.” “I’d be ’fraid.” “O, you are not a man like me. I could fire a gun an shoot a bear.” “Has God cows?” “Why, He makes em, an the horses, an the elephants, an every thing. Don’t you go to Sabbath school?” “No.” “My! I went when littler than you, an learnt heaps o’ things, an got raisins and candy at Christmas.” “Without a penny?” “Gimme for nothing.” “My.” “I was to have spoke a piece but got afraid.” “I wouldn’t be ’fraid.” “Oh, that’s nothing; you’re a girl.”