They had two tall sunburnt “boys,” who did most of the farm work, except in the very busy season, when three or four “hired men” helped them. And they had two daughters, one a fine, handsome girl, twenty years old, and the other three or four years older, and with no beauty in her face but that of a very sweet and pleasant expression. It was this one, whose name was Ann, who showed the tired travellers to their rooms, on the evening of their arrival, and waited on them while they ate their supper, and brought a pitcher of fresh water and a lighted lamp, when she heard Mrs. Leslie tell the children it was bedtime. She seemed surprised, they thought, when Mrs. Leslie gently thanked her.
They found, the next day, that the other daughter was named Julia, and as time went on, and they saw more and more of the daily life on the farm, they could not help noticing that, while Julia did her share of the general work cheerfully and well, it was always Ann who seemed to think of little uncalled-for kindnesses and helps, although she did this so quietly and unobtrusively, that it was some time before they observed it.
Her mother and sister were in the habit of asking her to “just” do this or that, to run upstairs or “down-cellar” for something; her father and the boys nearly always came to her for any chance bit of sewing they wanted done, and even the great watch dog and the sober old yellow cat seemed to take for granted that she should be the one to feed them. And the children saw that to all these calls upon her time and attention she responded not only willingly, but gladly.
Mrs. Allen, good-tempered as she usually was, was sometimes “tried,” as she expressed it, when things “went contrary,” and Julia, although generally in a good humor, and sometimes even frolicsome, was inclined to be fretful if her wishes and plans were crossed; but the pleasant serenity of Ann’s face was seldom ruffled, and before long the children found themselves going to her for help and sympathy in their plans and arrangements, just as her own family did.
“And I tell you, Tiny, she’s first rate!” said Johnny, warmly, one day, when “Miss Ann” had left her sewing to help him find his knife, and had found it, too. “Mrs. Allen’s very kind and nice, and Miss Julia’s thundering—I mean very—pretty, but I do think Miss Ann has one of the pleasantest faces I ever saw, and I’d be willing to lose my knife, and have it stay lost, if I could find out how she manages always to know just what everybody wants, and to do it as if it was what she wanted herself. I’ve three quarters of a mind to ask her. Would you?”
“Why, yes, I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” said Tiny, after thinking a minute; “only I would put in, to please not tell unless she really and truly didn’t mind, for you know she might not like to tell, and yet not like to say so. I’d make her promise that first, before you say what it is.”
“I sometimes think you have more sense than I have, Tiny—about some things, that is,” said Johnny, nodding his head approvingly. “I’ll fix her that way; and if you see her off in the orchard, or anywhere where it would be a good chance, I wish you’d tell me.”
To this Tiny agreed, and for several days she and Johnny kept watch over their unconscious victim, hoping for a chance to see her alone, growing quite impatient, at last, and declaring that they didn’t believe she ever did sit down!