BERTIE AND WINNIE.
One morning, about a week after the ride to the quarry, Bertie took his sister Winnie in his donkey carriage and drove her to Woodlawn. It was a pretty sight, and many of the villagers stopped with a smile to gaze after them. Herbert with his clear blue eyes so like his father's, his chestnut hair waving off his forehead, his bright, healthy complexion and pleasant smile: Winnie with her close auburn curls, her laughing brown eyes and cherry lips, formed a picture not often seen. Each of them wore a straw hat to shade their eyes from the sun, and the voice of Winnie sounded like the warbling of a bird, as she gayly echoed her brother's laugh.
"Mamma say I may dive Whitefoot drass," lisped the child, not yet having learned to articulate the letter g. "Whitefoot not bite me, no."
"Whitefoot is a good donkey. He never bites," answered Herbert, decidedly. "Now, Winnie, you must keep hold of my hand, and not run away as you do at the farm. I sha'n't have time to chase after you as Nancy does."
"I'm doin' to be dood dirl, Bertie, mamma say so. Winnie not doin' to make mamma cry any more."
"Here we are; and there's papa on the hill. See all the men and the oxen!"
Winnie laughed, and clapped her hands.
They drove along till they came to the tree where Bertie sometimes tied his donkey, and then he carefully lifted his sister to the ground.
"Wait a minute," he said, "and I'll lead you to the big cellar."
But the little girl couldn't stand still. She was as full of life as a squirrel; and, when once upon her feet, ran to pull some grass for Whitefoot.
The donkey did not think much of the little spears she brought him, and put one by one into his mouth. He preferred to pull a whole mouthful at once with his strong teeth; but he loved the children who were so kind to him; and so he stood very patiently taking her present of grass, very careful not to bite the tiny fingers in which she held it up for his use.
I am glad to say that Bertie waited patiently for his sister to feed Whitefoot, though he was in a great hurry to see what Jim and Tom were doing at the cellar.
Presently she grew tired, and taking her brother's hand, went with him across the smooth grass to the site of the new house.
Bertie always bowed to the men and spoke very kindly to them; now he said,—
"I've brought my sister Winifred to see you work to-day."
Tom stopped his oxen a moment to gaze at the delicate little creature, and then said, laughing,—
"I suppose she's too small to ride on the drag. I'm going after a load of stone; and I could take you both as well as not."
Bertie was sorely tempted. He liked very much to go with Tom, who since the time the child asked for the corn, had been quite guarded in his words; but mamma had told him to be very careful of his sister; and if any accident should happen to her, he would feel so sorry. He glanced wistfully from Tom to Winnie, but then said, suddenly,—
"Thank you, sir, I'd like it, ever so much, but I'm afraid for Winnie. She's so little, and mamma trusted her with me."
"That's right," said a cheerful voice close behind them.
Mr. Curtis had come down from the hill, and was near enough to see all that had passed. When Bertie's face flushed with a desire to go, he felt inclined to step forward and remonstrate; but when he saw that his son yielded to the suggestions of conscience, his heart swelled with love and gratitude to the good Spirit who was leading Bertie into the path of peace.
"Oh, papa! Winnie had dood ride," exclaimed the little girl, running to take his hand.
"And what do you think about the new house, pet?" asked papa, taking her in his arms.
"Winnie don't want to do down there," she said, pointing her tiny finger to the deep cellar.
At this moment there was a great noise, which made the child cling closely to her father's neck. Jim had backed his oxen to the very edge of the bank, and pitched a load of stones down to the bottom of the cellar.
As Bertie looked over, he saw that all the gravel had been carried out; and now some men whom he had not seen before, were busy laying up the stones which Tom and Jim brought, in a nice, smooth wall.
"Have the diggers gone away, papa?" he asked.
"They have done their work here; and now they are digging a trench for an avenue."
"What is a trench, papa?"
"If you will come this afternoon I will show you. You may ride down by the lake on Tom's drag; he will be at work there by that time."
"Oh, thank you, papa!"
He looked in his father's eyes, and what do you think he saw there? It was a look which made him feel very glad he had tried to do right, and it also made him resolve to ask God's help to be a good boy all the time.
When Tom came back with a load, he pitched the stones down into the cellar a little way beyond the place where Jim had put his.
"I guess, Squire," the man said, "a few loads more'll be all the mason can use to-day."
"I should think so, Jim. I'll talk with him about it, and let you know exactly what he wants. Are there many more stones in the old wall?"
"There's enough for this and your barn cellar, and all the stuff you'll want in your road, or I'll lose my guess, Squire," the man answered, laughing. "It does hold out wonderful. I s'pose you'll want us to make clean work as far as we go."
"Yes, everything must be made smooth; I'm going to throw those two mowing lots into one. There's a great deal of time lost every year in mowing up close to the walls, and they seldom look neat even then. The fewer boundaries the better, was my father's motto."
"Did you ever live in the country, Squire?"
"Yes, I was born and brought up on a farm."
"'Cause it's been a wonder to all the Oxford people," continued Jim, "where you picked up such a heap of farming knowledge. Folks say you could keep a school and larn farmers a sight more'n they know now."
"I'm much obliged to Oxford for its good opinion," answered Mr. Curtis, with a merry laugh.
