“Mind Jack,” said Lucy, as Sally stepped over, pretty near the little hand that was grasping at the patch of sunlight before him. “I put up the chair to keep him from creeping out; he’s getting a pert little fellow.”
“Give me a doughnut, please, Lucy,” said Sally. “I’m so hungry!”
Lucy was Gill’s wife, who did all the house-work, and the little Jack made a foreign soil like home to the emigrants, who were content to stay under the sky which had first smiled upon their bonnie laddie.
Sally took the nice brown ball from the good housewife, and stepped over the chair again. She gave two or three peeps through the slats, to make Jack crow, and then away she went to find Gill.
The baby pursed up its tiny mouth to cry, as he lost sight of her. He loved Sally so dearly!
“Never mind, little man,” said the mother, leaving her “biggin,” as she called the oat-meal porridge-cup which she was washing, and lifting the child to her shoulder, from whence he could see the little girl’s pink frock in the field, not far away.
Gill was bending to his labor, but now and then he stood erect and looked toward the farm-house, to catch a glimpse of Lucy and the “little man,” to sweeten toil. It makes work so light when one does it for those whom he loves.
“Why do you hoe so often, Gill?” asked Sally. “Won’t the things grow without?”
“Oh, yes, but other things will grow—weeds and things that are not wanted. You see this, don’t you?” pulling up a dockweed, and showing its long tap-roots. “Well, if I didn’t watch and pull, watch and pull all the time, I should have it thick enough pretty soon.”
“Isn’t it good for anything?” asked Sally, noticing its lance-like leaves, “I think this is what Lucy picks sometimes for spinach.”