I told Mr. Stockton, as I shook hands with him in parting, that there was not a farmer, either amateur or professional, in the whole Union, who would not be glad to purchase a package of his instinct-powders; and as I left the genial granger, he was putting cushions under his watermelons so that they would not get bruised by contact with the earth. X A SPRING IDYL It was a bright morning in early spring--one of the delightful, languorous days that take the sap out of one and make the life of the tramp seem blissful. The maples were just putting forth their delicate crimson leaves, and a warm south wind bore into the city the smell of fresh earth. Ah, what longings were stirred up in the breast of Key, Pattit & Company’s office-boy, country-bred, but pent up in the city for a twelvemonth past! Oh, for one day in the country! He would follow the winding trout-stream from its source in Perkins’s meadow until it emptied into the Naugatuck, and with angleworms dug from the famous spot north of the barn he would lure the coy trout from their shaded lurking-places. [Illustration] Hark! what was that? The “drowsy tinkling” of a cow-bell--of cow-bells. What sweet music! It drove him wild with longing, as louder and ever louder, and nearer and yet nearer, came the sound of bells. Ah, he could see Jerry, the hired man, driving the cows up the grassy lane. As usual, Betty, the Jersey, was in the lead. And there was greedy Daisy, lingering to crop the rich grass that grew along the lane until Jerry’s “Whe-e-y, whe-e-y!” should bid her hurry on. And there were the twin heifers, Nanny and Fanny, perfectly matched Holsteins. And in the rear, plodding on with dignity and fatness, was Diana, the great Devon. How the bells jangled! Surely it was not seeming, but actuality. They were right outside on the street. Impulsively he ran to the office window and looked down with boyish anticipation. “Jingle-jangle!” went the bells. “Rha-ags, rha-ags, any ol’ rha-ags!” shouted the ragman. XI AN INVERTED SPRING IDYL It was a bright morning in the early spring, a time to call forth poetic fancies in the mind of the most prosaic; and Jack was more imaginative than many boys. He had been spending the winter at his uncle’s in the country, and these warm, languorous days had made him long for New York once more. He sat astride of a maple-branch, on which the crimson leaves were just peeping out. Ah me, what would he not give to be back in the city! He leaned back against the tree-trunk and gave himself over to day-dreams.