While the milk rattled and rushed upon the bottom of his empty pail, uncle Nathan kept quiet, leaning his head against the cow, and thinking over the pleasant ideas that little Mary had aroused in his kind heart. Unconsciously wishing to share those thoughts with his sister, he had driven his cow close to hers that they might converse together. Hannah took no notice of his presence, however, but went on filling her pail so rapidly, that it began to foam over the edge. When her brother saw this, and knew by the soft, feathery sound that she had nearly finished, he stooped down, and with his dear old face just visible under the cow, called out,
"I say, Hannah, what do you think of her?"
Did the vicious animal start? Or what was it that made the stern woman shriek out, and wheel round so sharply on her stool?
"Why, Hannah, did I frighten her! has she kicked again?" cried uncle Nathan, surprised by the sharp action and wild look that she cast back upon him.
"Yes, she did start," answered aunt Hannah, rising and taking up the pail, now quite full, which made her waver to and fro, a singular weakness which no one had ever witnessed in her before.
"But you ain't frightened, sister; nothing can frighten you," said
Nathan, soothingly.
"No, but you asked something, what is it."
"Only, how you liked her?"
"Her!—who?"
"Why, Mary Fuller, our little girl, you know."