"What--oh, you mean Queen Elizabeth!" said Hilda, laughing. "King James was not her brother, Bubble. They were cousins, but nothing more." "You _said_ she said 'brother,'" persisted the boy. "So I did," replied Hilda. "You see, it was the fashion, and is still, for kings and queens to _call_ each other brother and sister, whether they were really related to each other or not." "But I thought they was always fightin'," objected Bubble. "I've got a hist'ry book to home, an' in that it says they fit like time whenever they got a chance." "So they did," said Hilda. "But they called each other 'our royal brother' and 'our beloved sister;' and they were always paying each other fine compliments, and saying how much they loved each other, even in the middle of a war, when they were fighting as hard as they could." "Humph!" said Bubble, "nice kind o folks they must ha' been. Well, I must go, Miss Hildy," he added, reluctantly. "I've had a splendid time, an' I'm _real_ obleeged to ye. I sh'll try to larn that story by heart, 'bout the bold Buckle-oh. I want to tell it to Pink! _She_'d like it--oh, my! wouldn't she like it, jest like--I mean jest like spellin'! Good by, Miss Hildy!" And Bubble ran off to bring home the cows, his little heart swelling high with scorn of kings and queens, and with a fervor of devotion to Walter Scott, first lord of Buccleugh. CHAPTER VII. PINK CHIRK. One lovely morning Hildegarde stood at the back door, feeding the fowls. She wore her brown gingham frock with the yellow daisies on it, and the daisy-wreathed hat, and in her hands she held a great yellow bowl full of yellow corn. So bright a picture she made that Farmer Hartley, driving the oxen afield, stopped for pure pleasure to look at her. Around her the ducks and hens were fighting and squabbling, quacking, clucking, and gobbling, and she flung the corn in golden showers on their heads and backs, making them nearly frantic with greedy anxiety. [Illustration: "SHE FLUNG THE CORN IN GOLDEN SHOWERS ON THEIR HEADS."] "Wal, Huldy," said the farmer, leaning against Bright's massive side, "you look pooty slick in that gown, I must say. I reckon thar ain't no sech gown as _that_ on Fifth Avenoo, hey?" "Indeed, I don't believe there is, Farmer Hartley," replied Hilda, laughing merrily; "at least I never saw one like it. It _is_ pretty, I think, and _so_ comfortable! And where are you going this morning with the mammoths?" "Down to the ten-acre lot," replied the farmer. "The men are makin' hay thar to-day. Jump into the riggin' and come along," he added. "Ye kin hev a little ride, an' see the hay-makin'. Pooty sight 'tis, to my thinkin'."