"Never rich or great in the way you mean, or even famous, till after he was dead." "Then I'd rather have you like Major Wild, for he owns much land, lives in a grand house, and wears the finest-laced coat in all the town. Will you be like him, please, Nat?" "No, I won't!" answered the lad, with emphatic brevity, as the image of the red-faced, roystering Major passed before his mind's eye. His bluntness ruffled his little sovereign's temper for a moment, and she asked with a frown,-- "What do you think Aunt Becky said yesterday, when we found ever so many of your verses hidden in the clothes-press, where we went to put lavender among the linen?" "Something sharp, and burnt the papers, I'll warrant," replied Nat, with the resignation of one used to such trials. "No, she kept 'em to cover jam-pots with, and she said you were either a fool or a genus. Is a genus very bad, Nat?" added Ruth, relenting as she saw his dreamy eyes light up with what she fancied was a spark of anger. "Aunt Becky thinks so; but I don't, and, though I may not be one, sooner or later folks shall see that I'm no fool, for I feel, I know, I was not born to hoe corn and feed pigs all my life." "What will you do?" cried Ruth, startled by the almost passionate energy with which he spoke. "Till I'm twenty-one I'll stay to do my duty. When the time comes, I'll break away and try my own life, for I shall have a right to do it then." "And leave me? Nay, I'll not let you go." And Ruth threw her dandelion chain about his neck, claiming her bondsman with the childish tyranny he found so sweet. He laughed and let her hold him, seeing how frail the green links were; little dreaming how true a symbol it was of the stronger tie by which she would hold him when the time came to choose between liberty and love. "Five years is a long time, Ruthy. You will get tired of my odd ways, and be glad to have me go. But never fret about it; for, whatever happens, I'll not forget you." Quite satisfied with this promise, the little maid fell to sticking buttercups in the band of the straw hat her own nimble fingers had braided, as if bent on securing one crown for her friend. But Nat, leaning his head upon his hand, sat watching the sunshine glitter on the placid stream that rippled at his feet, with such intentness that Ruth presently disturbed him by demanding curiously,-- "What is it? A kingfisher or a turtle?" "It's the river, dear. It seems to sing to me as it goes by. I always hear it, yet I never understand what it says. Do you?" Ruth fixed her blue eyes on the bluer water, listened for an instant, then laughed out blithely, and sprung up, saying,-- "It sings: 'Come and fish, Nat. Come and fish!'"