“There she is,” said she, pointing to the largest rag doll; “I always talk to her as if she was alive. It’s real fun. This is her sister, Martha Jane. She has fits.” “My rag doll is Sarah Jane,” said the little pilgrim. “What does Martha Jane have fits for?” “’Cos she likes ’em,” replied Nellie; “she’d rather have fits than anything else. But Polly likes measles best.” This seemed very strange to Bessie, but Nellie was so much older that she thought she must know. When they got tired of playing with the baby-house they took off their shoes and stockings and paddled in the brook. The water was delightfully cool, and Bessie knew now why the cows like to stand in the water in warm weather. There were stepping-stones in the brook, and the two little girls crossed from one to another, and paddled about as much as they liked. “It is nicer here than it is at our house,” said Bessie; “we haven’t got any brook, nor any barn nor corn-crib; and I’m going to ask my papa to come here to live.” “Then we could visit every day,” said Nellie; “you could come to see me, and I could go to see you.” But when Bessie got back to her home again she forgot all about going to live at Brook Farm, and was just as well satisfied with grandpapa’s house as ever. When they were tired of the brook they put on their shoes and stockings again and went to look at Martha’s dairy. Martha had said that they might come and see her make butter. Bessie liked going into funny little houses, and it was so nice and cool in the dairy. Everything was so clean and shining, and the tin milk-pans were bright enough for looking-glasses. Some of them were full of milk with rich cream on top, and the little visitor was allowed to skim some of this off in a pitcher for dinner. She liked to do it very much. Martha was churning, and she said that the butter had ’most come. She kept looking into the churn every few minutes; and soon she took out large yellow lumps and put them on a flat dish. These lumps were butter, and she washed them very clean in cold water, and then worked them into shape. She made them into neat-looking pats, and stamped them with different figures. She let Bessie stamp one with a wooden rose, and it looked very pretty. Then Martha gave each of the children a drink of rich buttermilk from the churn, and they thanked her and went to the house, for it was nearly dinner-time. When they were not far from the kitchen-door they knew that Charlie was coming, there was such a terrible screaming. “Oh, he’s hurt!” said Bessie, looking frightened; “he’s so little, you know.” “Pooh!” said Nellie; “I guess he isn’t hurt; he always screams for nothing.” It happened that Charlie was hurt this time--pretty badly hurt too, for a little boy. But it was some time before his mamma knew it, for, as Nellie said, he always screamed for nothing, and if Aunt Lou had run to him every time that he screamed she would not have been able to do much else.