“Is that what we are to do by and by?” asked Ben.
“I think so,” said Gill; “part of our life hereafter at least, to look into the wonderful things of creation, the things that we cannot see here, and that we have not leisure to learn about.”
Sally was running along by the fence which separated the meadow from the field. She espied the children’s delight, “butter-and-eggs,” as little people call it.
“We say ‘toad-flax,’” said Gill, examining the pale-green, narrow leaves, and light-yellow blossoms with a touch of deep orange. “The plant is something like the flax plant, and they say the blossom resembles a toad’s mouth.”
“I shall keep to butter-and-eggs,” said little Sally, “that is what all the children call it.”
“Dobbin is whinnying,” said Gill. “He has finished his hay, and I must be off to town. I have errands enough to do to-night, and I must be up betimes in the morning to pick beans and peas, and get them to market in season.”
“Wake me at four o’clock, if you please,” said Ben, “and I’ll help you.”
“And I will get up and help you,” said the little girl. “‘Tis so lovely out here in the morning. I’ll put on my old frock and my thick shoes, and mother will not mind the dew. I can dress nicely before breakfast.”
Dolly was aroused from her nap, and the hay and the milking-stool were removed from the old cart, and Dobbin stood between the thills, and Ben and Sally watched the wheels go round and round, as Gill drove out of the big gate, and away toward the city.