“That is feeding flour, madam,” said the hired man Denno, appearing just in the nick of time.
“And this is middlings,” he went on, stepping forward, and putting down a pail of water that he held in his hand.
He lifted another lid and then another. “This is bran,” he said, “and I am just going to mix some for the pigs.”
He put his hand in a third box, took a tin dipper, and lifting it out full of bran, mixed it in the water with a stick.
“Oh! may we see the pigs?” cried Mary eagerly. “Come, mamma dear.”
Mrs. Denville was going round the grain room, lifting more lids and murmuring to herself, “Cracked corn, buckwheat, oats, rye, wheat.”
At Mary's request, she left the room, and followed Denno down a rather steep stairway.
“This is what we call the barn cellar down here, little miss,” said the young man over his shoulder to Mary who was next him.
“Why, it is lovely and light,” exclaimed my little mistress. “I should think a barn cellar would be dark.”
“Look at the windows,” said her mother, “see the sun streaming in.”