Christie usually got them into the big meadow as soon as possible, and there let them gambol at will; while she sat on the broken bough of an apple-tree, and watched her flock like an old-fashioned shepherdess. To-day she did so; and when the children were happily sailing boats, tearing to and fro like wild colts, or discovering the rustic treasures Nurse Nature lays ready to gladden little hearts and hands, Christie sat idly making a garland of green brakes, and ruddy sumach leaves ripened before the early frosts had come.
A FRIENDLY CHAT.
David saw her there, and, feeling that he might come off guard for a time, went strolling down to lean upon the wall, and chat in the friendly fashion that had naturally grown up between these fellow-workers. She was waiting for the new supply of ferns little Adelaide was getting for her by the wall; and while she waited she sat resting her cheek upon her hand, and smiling to herself, as if she saw some pleasant picture in the green grass at her feet.
“Now I wonder what she’s thinking about,” said David’s voice close by, and Christie straightway answered:
“Philip Fletcher.”
“And who is he?” asked David, settling his elbow in a comfortable niche between the mossy stones, so that he could “lean and loaf” at his ease.
“The brother of the lady whose children I took care of;” and Christie wished she had thought before she answered that first question, for in telling her adventures at diiferent times she had omitted all mention of this gentleman.
“Tell about him, as the children say: your experiences are always interesting, and you look as if this man was uncommonly entertaining in some way,” said David, indolently inclined to be amused.