The horse shook his head, and stood still.
"Come along, you old vagabond!" said Farmer Jones, in a voice of reproof. "Don't you see the lad's sorry for the cut he gave you? Now walk up to the bars, and forgive the little fellow, as a sensible horse ought to do."
Ned no longer hesitated, but went up to the bars, where Neddy, half trembling, awaited him, and took the sweet morsel of hay from the child's hand. Jane, encouraged by this evidence of docility, put her hand on the animal's neck, and stroked his long head gently with her hand, while Neddy gathered handful after handful of hay, and stood close by the mouth of the old horse, as he ate it with the air of one who enjoyed himself.
After that, the children could cross the field again as freely as before, and if Ned noticed them at all, it was in a manner so good natured as not to cause them the slightest uneasiness.
THE FREED BUTTERFLY.
Yes, go, little butterfly,
Fan the warm air
With your soft silken pinions,
So brilliant and fair;
A poor, fluttering prisoner
No longer you'll be;
There! Out of the window!
You are free—you are free!
Go, rest on the bosom
Of some favorite flower;
Go, sport in the sunlight
Your brief little hour;
For your day, at the longest,
Is scarcely a span:
Then go and enjoy it;
Be gay while you can.
As for me, I have something
More useful to do:
I must work, I must learn—
Though I play sometimes, too.
All your days with the blossoms,
Bright thing, you may spend;
They will close with the summer,
Mine never shall end.