They had just finished when the great dog came bouncing in with a basket in his mouth.
“Mother wants eggs: will you come to the barn and get them? Hay is wholesome, and you can feed the doves if you like,” said David, leading the way with Bran rioting about him.
“Why don’t he offer to put up a swing for me, or get me a doll? It’s the pinafore that deceives him. Never mind: I rather like it after all,” thought Christie; but she left the apron behind her, and followed with the most dignified air.
It did not last long, however, for the sights and sounds that greeted her, carried her back to the days of egg-hunting in Uncle Enos’s big barn; and, before she knew it, she was rustling through the hay mows, talking to the cow and receiving the attentions of Bran with a satisfaction it was impossible to conceal.
The hens gathered about her feet cocking their expectant eyes at her; the doves came circling round her head; the cow stared placidly, and the inquisitive horse responded affably when she offered him a handful of hay.
“How tame they all are! I like animals, they are so contented and intelligent,” she said, as a plump dove lit on her shoulder with an impatient coo.
“That was Kitty’s pet, she always fed the fowls. Would you like to do it?” and David offered a little measure of oats.
“Very much;” and Christie began to scatter the grain, wondering who “Kitty” was.
As if he saw the wish in her face, David added, while he shelled corn for the hens:
“She was the little girl who was with us last. Her father kept her in a factory, and took all her wages, barely giving her clothes and food enough to keep her alive. The poor child ran away, and was trying to hide when Mr. Power found and sent her here to be cared for.”