Phil said the farmer was calling after us, but we only ran the faster, for fear he should shoot Dash. When we got home, mother met us in the porch, and asked where we had been; then we told her all about the farmer, and how we wanted to go Maying while we could.
She laughed a little, but presently she looked quite grave, and said,—“I’m very glad to find you have told me the whole truth, because if you had not I should still have known it. Farmer Grey has been here, and he told me about your having gone across his meadow that he is keeping for hay. He has brought you all the May you left behind, and he says you may have some more if you want it, only you must not walk through the long grass, but go round the meadow by the little side-path. He said he was afraid he had frightened you, and he was sorry.”
Phil and I had a splendid Maying after that. We made wreaths for ourselves, and one for Dash, only we couldn’t get him to wear his, which was a pity.
But the best of all is that mother says she can always trust us, because we told the truth at once; and Phil and I think we would rather never go Maying any more (though we like it so much) than not tell her every thing. I’m sure it’s a very good plan, and we mean to do it always, even when we’re quite grown up. Mother laughs at that, and says,—“You will have your secrets then;” but Phil and I don’t think we shall, because it couldn’t be a really nice secret if we mightn’t tell mother.
I. T.
GRACIE’S TEMPER.
“Once a gentle, snow-white birdie,
Came and built its nest,
In a spot you’d never dream of,—
In a baby’s breast.
Then how happy, gentle, loving,
Grew the baby, Grace;
All the smiles and all the dimples
Brightened in her face.
But a black and ugly raven
Came one morn that way;
Came and drove the gentle birdie.
From its nest away.