There were few people we loved better than Tomty, the gardener. This dear, good man must have been a martyr to our pranks, and the only wonder is that he was able to do any gardening at all. It was “Tomty” here and “Tomty” there, from morning till night. When Laura wanted her bonnet-strings tied (oh, that odious little bonnet! with the rows of pink and green quilled ribbon which was always coming off), she never thought of going into the house to Mary, though Mary was good and kind too,--she always ran to Tomty, who must “lay down the shovel and the hoe,” and fashion bow-knots with his big, clumsy, good-natured fingers. When Harry was playing out in the hot sun without a hat, and Mary called to him to come in like a good boy and get his hat, did he go? Oh, no! He tumbled the potatoes or apples out of Tomty’s basket, and put that on his head instead of a hat, and it answered just as well. Poor, dear Tomty! He went to California in later years, and was cruelly murdered by some base wretches for the sake of a little money which he had saved. Somehow we had not very many friends of our own age. I suppose one reason was that we were so many ourselves that there were always enough to have a good time. There were one or two little girls who used to go with us on the famous maying-parties, which were great occasions. On May-day morning we would take to ourselves baskets,--some full of goodies, some empty,--and start for a pleasant wooded place not far from Green Peace. Here, on a sunny slope where the savins grew not too thickly to prevent the sun from shining merrily down on the mossy sward, we would pitch our tent (only there was no tent), and prepare to be perfectly happy. We gathered such early flowers as were to be found, and made garlands of them; we chose a queen and crowned her; and then we had a feast, which was really the object of the whole expedition. It was the proper thing to buy certain viands for this feast, the home dainties being considered not sufficiently rare. Well, we ate our oranges and nibbled our cocoanut, and the older ones drank the milk, if there was any in the nut: this was considered the very height of luxury, and the little ones knew it was too much for them to expect. I cannot remember whether we were generally ill after these feasts, but I think it highly probable. In mentioning our friends, is it right to pass over the good “four-footers,” who were so patient with us, and bore with so many of our vagaries? Can we ever forget Oggy the Steamboat, so called from the loudness of her purring? Do not some of us still think with compunction of the day when this good cat was put in a tin pan, and covered over with a pot-lid, while on the lid was set her deadly enemy Ella, the fat King Charles spaniel? What a snarling ensued! what growls, hisses, yells, mingled with the clashing of tin and the “unseemly laughter” of naughty children!