Read Ebook: Janet: A Stock-Farm Scout by Roy Lillian Elizabeth Colborne Elizabeth Illustrator

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Not a house in all the parish--scarcely excepting Mount Pleasant itself--all round and about which our heart could in some dreamy hour raise to life a greater multitude of dear old remembrances, all touching ourselves, than LOGAN BRAES. The old people, when we first knew them, we used to think somewhat apt to be surly--for they were Seceders--and owing to some unavoidable prejudices, which we were at no great pains to vanquish, we Manse-boys recognised something repulsive in that most respectable word. Yet for the sake of that sad story of the Martyrs, there was always something affecting to us in the name of Logan Braes; and though Beltane was of old a Pagan Festival, celebrated with grave idolatries round fires ablaze on a thousand hills, yet old Laurence Logan would sweeten his vinegar aspect on May-day, would wipe out a score of wrinkles, and calm, as far as that might be, the terrors of his shaggy eyebrows. A little gentleness of manner goes a long way with such young folk as we were all then, when it is seen naturally and easily worn for our sakes, and in sympathy with our accustomed glee, by one who in his ordinary deportment may have added the austerity of religion to the venerableness of old age. Smiles from old Laurence Logan, the Seceder, were like rare sun-glimpses in the gloom--and made the hush of his house pleasant as a more cheerful place; for through the restraint laid on reverent youth by feeling akin to fear, the heart ever and anon bounded with freedom in the smile of the old man's eyes. Plain was his own apparel--a suit of the hodden-grey. His wife, when in full dress, did not remind us of a Quakeress, for a Quakeress then had we never seen--but we often think now, when in company with a still, sensible, cheerful, and comely-visaged matron of that sect, of her of Logan Braes. No waster was she of her tears, or her smiles, or her words, or her money, or her meal--either among those of her own blood, or the stranger or the beggar that was within her gates. You heard not her foot on the floor--yet never was she idle--moving about in doors and out, from morning till night, so placid and so composed, and always at small cost dressed so decently, so becomingly to one who was not yet old, and had not forgotten--why should she not remember it?--that she was esteemed in youth a beauty, and that it was not for want of a richer and younger lover that she agreed at last to become the wife of the Laird of Logan Braes.

Their family consisted of two sons and a niece;--and be thou who thou mayest that hast so far read our May-day, we doubt not that thine eyes will glance--however rapidly--over another page, nor fling it contemptuously aside, because amidst all the chance and change of administrations, ministries, and ministers in high places, there murmur along the channels of our memory "the simple annals of the poor," like unpolluted streams that sweep not by city walls.

Never were two brothers more unlike in all things--in mind, body, habits, and disposition--than Lawrie and Willie Logan--and we see, as in a glass, at this very moment, both their images. "Wee Wise Willie"--for by that name he was known over several parishes--was one of those extraordinary creatures that one may liken to a rarest plant, which nature sows here and there--sometimes for ever unregarded--among the common families of Flowers. Early sickness had been his lot--continued with scarcely any interruption from his cradle to school-years--so that not only was his stature stunted, but his whole frame was delicate in the extreme; and his pale small-featured face, remarkable for large, soft, down-looking, hazel eyes, dark-lashed in their lustre, had a sweet feminine character, that corresponded well with his voice, his motions, and his in-door pursuits--all serene and composed, and interfering with the outgoings of no other living thing. All sorts of scholarship, such as the parish schoolmaster knew, he mastered as if by intuition. His slate was quickly covered with long calculations, by which the most puzzling questions were solved; and ere he was nine years old, he had made many pretty mechanical contrivances with wheels and pulleys, that showed in what direction lay the natural bent of his genius. Languages, too, the creature seemed to see into with quickest eyes, and with quickest ears to catch their sounds--so that, at the same tender age, he might have been called a linguist, sitting with his Greek and Latin books on a stool beside him by the fireside during the long winter nights. All the neighbours who had any books, cheerfully lent them to "Wee Wise Willie," and the Manse-boys gave him many a supply. At the head of every class he, of course, was found--but no ambition had he to be there; and like a bee that works among many thousand others on the clover-lea, heedless of their murmurs, and intent wholly on its own fragrant toil, did he go from task to task--although that was no fitting name for the studious creature's meditations on all he read or wrought--no more a task for him to grow in knowledge and in thought, than for a lily of the field to lift up its head towards the sun. That child's religion was like all the other parts of his character--as prone to tears as that of other children, when they read of the Divine Friend dying for them on the cross; but it was profounder far than theirs, when it shed no tears, and only made the paleness of his countenance more like that which we imagine to be the paleness of a phantom. No one ever saw him angry, complaining, or displeased; for angelical indeed was his temper, purified, like gold in fire, by suffering. He shunned not the company of other children, but loved all, as by them all he was more than beloved. In few of their plays could he take an active share; but sitting a little way off, still attached to the merry brotherhood, though in their society he had no part to enact, he read his book on the knoll, or, happy dreamer, sunk away among the visions of his own thoughts. There was poetry in that child's spirit, but it was too essentially blended with his whole happiness in life, often to be embodied in written words. A few compositions were found in his own small beautiful handwriting after his death--hymns and psalms. Prayers, too, had his heart indited--but they were not in measured language--framed, in his devout simplicity, on the model of our Lord's. How many hundred times have we formed a circle round him in the gloaming, all sitting or lying on the greensward, before the dews had begun to descend, listening to his tales and stories of holy or heroic men and women, who had been greatly good and glorious in the days of old! Not unendeared to his imagination were the patriots, who, living and dying, loved the liberties of the land--Tell--Bruce--or Wallace, he in whose immortal name a thousand rocks rejoice, while many a wood bears it on its summits as they are swinging to the storm. Weak as a reed that is shaken in the wind, or the stalk of a flower that tremblingly sustains its blossoms beneath the dews that feed their transitory lustre, was he whose lips were so eloquent to read the eulogies of mighty men of war riding mailed through bloody battles. What matters it that this frame of dust be frail, and of tiny size--still may it be the tenement of a lordly spirit. But high as such warfare was, it satisfied not that thoughtful child--for other warfare there was to read of, which was to him a far deeper and more divine delight--the warfare waged by good men against the legions of sin, and closed triumphantly in the eye of God--let this world deem as it will--on obscurest death-beds, or at the stake, or on the scaffold, where a profounder even than Sabbath silence glorifies the martyr far beyond any shout that from the immense multitude would have torn the concave of the heavens.

What a contrast to that creature was his elder brother! Lawrie was eighteen years old when first we visited Logan Braes, and was a perfect hero in strength and stature--Bob Howie alone his equal--but Bob was then in the West Indies. In the afternoons, after his work was over in the fields or in the barn, he had pleasure in getting us Manse-boys to accompany him to the Moor-Lochs for an hour's angling or two in the evening, when the large trouts came to the gravelly shallows, and, as we waded mid-leg deep, would sometimes take the fly among our very feet. Or he would go with us into the heart of the great wood, to show us where the foxes had their earths--the party being sometimes so fortunate as to see the cubs disporting at the mouth of the briery aperture in the strong and root-bound soil. Or we followed him, so far as he thought it safe for us to do so, up the foundations of the castle, and in fear and wonder that no repetition of the adventurous feat ever diminished, saw him take the young starling from the crevice beneath the tuft of wall-flowers. What was there of the bold and daring that Lawrie Logan was not, in our belief, able to perform? We were all several years younger--boys from nine to fifteen--and he had shot up into sudden manhood--not only into its shape but its strength--yet still the boyish spirit was fresh within him, and he never wearied of us in such excursions. The minister had a good opinion of his principles, knowing how he had been brought up, and did not discountenance his visits to the Manse, nor ours to Logan Braes. Then what danger could we be in, go where we might, with one who had more than once shown how eager he was to risk his own life when that of another was in jeopardy? Generous and fearless youth! To thee we owed our own life--although seldom is that rescue now remembered-- when in pride of the newly-acquired art of swimming, we had ventured--with our clothes on too--some ten yards into the Brother-Loch, to disentangle our line from the water-lilies. It seemed that a hundred cords had got entangled round our legs, and our heart quaked too desperately to suffer us to shriek--but Lawrie Logan had his hand on us in a minute, and brought us to shore as easily as a Newfoundland dog lands a bit of floating wood.

But that was a momentary danger, and Lawrie Logan ran but small risk, you will say, in saving us; so let us not extol that instance of his intrepidity. But fancy to yourself, gentle reader, the hideous mouth of an old coal-pit, that had not been worked for time immemorial, overgrown with thorns, and briers, and brackens, but still visible from a small mount above it, for some yards down its throat--the very throat of death and perdition. But can you fancy also the childish and superstitious terror with which we all regarded that coal-pit, for it was said to be a hundred fathom deep--with water at the bottom--so that you had to wait for many moments--almost a minute--before you heard a stone, first beating against its sides--from one to the other--plunge at last into the pool profound. In that very field, too, a murder had been perpetrated, and the woman's corpse flung by her sweetheart into that coal-pit. One day some unaccountable impulse had led a band of us into that interdicted field--which we remember was not arable--but said to be a place where a hare was always sure to be found sitting among the binweeds and thistles. A sort of thrilling horror urged us on closer and closer to the mouth of the pit--when Wee Wise Willie's foot slipping on the brae, he bounded with inexplicable force along--in among the thorns, briers, and brackens--through the whole hanging mat, and without a shriek, down--down--down into destruction. We all saw it happen--every one of us--and it is scarcely too much to say, that we were for a while all mad with horror. Yet we felt ourselves borne back instinctively from the horrible pit--and as aid we could give none, we listened if we could hear any cry--but there was none--and we all flew together out of the dreadful field, and again collecting ourselves together, feared to separate on the different roads to our homes. "Oh! can it be that our Wee Wise Willie has this moment died sic a death--and no a single ane amang us a' greetin for his sake?" said one of us aloud; and then indeed did we burst out into rueful sobbing, and ask one another who could carry such tidings to Logan Braes? All at once we heard a clear, rich, mellow whistle as of a blackbird--and there with his favourite collie, searching for a stray lamb among the knolls, was Lawrie Logan, who hailed us with a laughing voice, and then asked us, "Where is Wee Willie?--hae ye flung him like another Joseph into the pit?" The consternation of our faces could not be misunderstood--whether we told him or not what had happened we do not know--but he staggered, as if he would have fallen down--and then ran off with amazing speed--not towards Logan Braes--but the village. We continued helplessly to wander about back and forwards along the near edge of a wood, when we beheld a multitude of people rapidly advancing, and in a few minutes they surrounded the mouth of the pit. It was about the very end of the hay-harvest--and many ropes that had been employed that very day in the leading of the hay of the Landlord of the Inn, who was also an extensive farmer, were tied together to the length of at least twenty fathom. Hope was quite dead--but her work is often done by Despair. For a while there was confusion all round the pit-mouth, but with a white fixed face and glaring eyes, Lawrie Logan advanced to the very brink, with the rope bound in many firm folds around him, and immediately behind him stood his grey-headed father, unbonneted, just as he had risen from a prayer. "Is't my ain father that's gaun to help me to gang doun to bring up Willie's body? O! merciful God, what a judgment is this! Father--father--Oh! lie doun at some distance awa frae the sicht o' this place. Robin Alison, and Gabriel Strang, and John Borland 'ill haud the ropes firm and safe. O, father--father--lie doun, a bit apart frae the crowd; and have mercy upon him--O thou, great God, have mercy upon him!" But the old man kept his place; and the only one son who now survived to him disappeared within the jaws of the same murderous pit, and was lowered slowly down, nearer and nearer to his little brother's corpse. They had spoken to him of foul air, of which to breathe is death, but he had taken his resolution, and not another word had been said to shake it. And now, for a short time, there was no weight at the line, except that of its own length. It was plain that he had reached the bottom of the pit. Silent was all that congregation, as if assembled in divine worship. Again, there was a weight at the rope, and in a minute or two, a voice was heard far down the pit that spread a sort of wild hope--else, why should it have spoken at all--and lo! the child--not like one of the dead--clasped in the arms of his brother, who was all covered with dust and blood. "Fall down on your knees--in the face o' heaven, and sing praises to God, for my brother is yet alive!"

During that Psalm, father, mother, and both their sons--the rescuer and the rescued--and their sweet cousin too, Annie Raeburn, the orphan, were lying embraced in speechless--almost senseless trances; for the agony of such a deliverance was more than could well by mortal creatures be endured.

The child himself was the first to tell how his life had been miraculously saved. A few shrubs had for many years been growing out of the inside of the pit, almost as far down as the light could reach, and among them had he been entangled in his descent, and held fast. For days, and weeks, and months, after that deliverance, few persons visited Logan Braes, for it was thought that old Laurence's brain had received a shock from which it might never recover; but the trouble that tried him subsided, and the inside of the house was again quiet as before, and its hospitable door open to all the neighbours.

Never forgetful of his primal duties had been that bold youth--but too apt to forget the many smaller ones that are wrapt round a life of poverty like invisible threads, and that cannot be broken violently or carelessly, without endangering the calm consistency of all its ongoings, and ultimately causing perhaps great losses, errors, and distress. He did not keep evil society--but neither did he shun it: and having a pride in feats of strength and activity, as was natural to a stripling whose corporeal faculties could not be excelled, he frequented all meetings where he was likely to fall in with worthy competitors, and in such trials of power, by degrees acquired a character for recklessness, and even violence, of which prudent men prognosticated evil, and that sorely disturbed his parents, who were, in their quiet retreat, lovers of all peace. With what wonder and admiration did all the Manse-boys witness and hear reported the feats of Lawrie Logan! It was he who, in pugilistic combat, first vanquished Black King Carey the Egyptian, who travelled the country with two wives and a waggon of Staffordshire pottery, and had struck the "Yokel," as he called Lawrie, in the midst of all the tents on Leddrie Green, at the great annual Baldernoch fair. Six times did the bare and bronzed Egyptian bite the dust--nor did Lawrie Logan always stand against the blows of one whose provincial fame was high in England, as the head of the Rough-and-Ready School. Even now--as in an ugly dream--we see the combatants alternately prostrate, and returning to the encounter, covered with mire and blood. All the women left the Green, and the old men shook their heads at such unchristian work; but Lawrie Logan did not want backers in the shepherds and the ploughmen, to see fair play against all the attempts of the Showmen and the Newcastle horse-cowpers, who laid their money thick on the King; till a right-hander in the pit of the stomach, which had nearly been the gypsy's everlasting quietus, gave the victory to Lawrie, amid acclamations that would have fitlier graced a triumph in a better cause. But that day was an evil day to all at Logan Braes. A recruiting sergeant got Lawrie into the tent, over which floated the colours of the 42d Regiment, and in the intoxication of victory, whisky, and the bagpipe, the young champion was as fairly enlisted into his Majesty's service, as ever young girl, without almost knowing it, was married at Gretna Green; and as the 42d were under orders to sail in a week, gold could not have bought off such a man, and Lawrie Logan went on board a transport.

Logan Braes was not the same place--indeed, the whole parish seemed altered--after Lawrie was gone, and our visits were thenceforth anything but cheerful ones, going by turns to inquire for Willie, who seemed to be pining away--not in any deadly disease, but just as if he himself knew, that without ailing much he was not to be a long liver. Yet nearly two years passed on, and all that time the principle of life had seemed like a flickering flame within him, that when you think it expiring or expired, streams up again with surprising brightness, and continues to glimmer even steadily with a protracted light. Every week--nay, almost every day, they feared to lose him--yet there he still was at morning and evening prayers. The third spring after the loss of his brother was remarkably mild, and breathing with west-winds that came softened over many woody miles from the sea. He seemed stronger, and more cheerful, and expressed a wish that the Manse-boys, and some others of his companions, would come to Logan Braes, and once again celebrate May-day. There we all sat at the long table, and both parents did their best to look cheerful during the feast. Indeed, all that had once been harsh and forbidding in the old man's looks and manners, was now softened down by the perpetual yearnings at his heart towards "the distant far and absent long," nor less towards him that peaceful and pious child, whom every hour he saw, or thought he saw, awaiting a call from the eternal voice. Although sometimes sadness fell across us like a shadow, yet the hours passed on as May-day hours should do; and what with our many-toned talk and laughter, the cooing of the pigeons on the roof, and the twittering of the swallows beneath the eaves, and the lark-songs ringing like silver bells over all the heavens, it seemed a day that ought to bring good tidings--or, the Soldier himself returning from the wars to bless the eyes of his parents once more, so that they might die in peace. "Heaven hold us in its keeping, for there's his wraith!" ejaculated Annie Raeburn. "It passed before the window, and my Lawrie, I now know, is with the dead!"--Bending his stately head beneath the lintel of the door, in the dress, and with the bearing of a soldier, Lawrie Logan stepped again across his father's threshold, and, ere he well uttered "God be with you all!" Willie was within his arms, and on his bosom. His father and his mother rose not from their chairs, but sat still, with faces like ashes. But we boys could not resist our joy, and shouted his name aloud--while Luath, from his sleep in the corner, leapt on his master breast-high, and whining his dumb delight, frisked round him as of yore, when impatient to snuff the dawn on the hill-side. "Let us go out and play," said a boy's voice, and issuing somewhat seriously into the sunshine, we left the family within to themselves, and then walked away, without speaking, down to the Bridge.

The sun has mounted high in heaven, while thus we have been dreaming away the hours--a dozen miles at least have we slowly wandered over, since morning, along pleasant by-paths, where never dust lay, or from gate to gate of pathless enclosures, a trespasser fearless of those threatening nonentities, spring-guns. There is the turnpike road--the great north and south road--for it is either the one or the other, according to the airt towards which you, choose to turn your face. Behold a little WAYSIDE INN, neatly thatched, and with white-washed front, and sign-board hanging from a tree, on which are painted the figures of two jolly gentlemen, one in kilts and the other in breeches, shaking hands cautiously across a running brook. The meal of all meals is a paulopost-meridian breakfast. The rosiness of the combs of these strapping hens is good augury;--hark, a cackle from the barn--another egg is laid--and chanticleer, stretching himself up on claw-tip, and clapping his wings of the bonny beaten gold, crows aloud to his sultana till the welkin rings. "Turn to the left, sir, if you please," quoth a comely matron; and we find ourselves snugly seated in an arm-chair, not wearied, but to rest willing, while the clock ticks pleasantly, and we take no note of time but by its gain; for here is our journal, in which we shall put down a few jottings for MAY-DAY. Three boiled eggs--one to each penny-roll--are sufficient, under any circumstances, along with the same number fried with mutton ham, for the breakfast of a Gentleman and a Tory. Nor do we remember--when tea-cups have been on a proper scale, ever to have wished to go beyond the Golden Rule of Three. In politics, we confess that we are rather ultra; but in all things else we love moderation. "Come in, my bonny little lassie--ye needna keep keekin in that gate fra ahint the door"--and in a few minutes the curly-pated prattler is murmuring on our knee. The sonsy wife, well-pleased with the sight, and knowing from our kindness to children, that we are on the same side of politics with her gudeman--Ex-sergeant in the Black Watch, and once Orderly to Garth himself--brings out her ain bottle from the spence--a hollow square, and green as emerald. Bless the gurgle of its honest mouth! With prim lips mine hostess kisses the glass, previously letting fall a not inelegant curtsy--for she had, we now learned, been a lady's maid in her youth to one who is indeed a lady, all the time her lover was abroad in the army, in Egypt, Ireland, and the West Indies, and Malta, and Guernsey, Sicily, Portugal, Holland, and, we think she said, Corfu. One of the children has been sent to the field, where her husband is sowing barley, to tell him that there is fear lest dinner cool; and the mistress now draws herself up in pride of his noble appearance, as the stately Highlander salutes us with the respectful but bold air of one who has seen some service at home and abroad. Never knew we a man make other than a good bow, who had partaken freely in a charge of bayonets.

Shenstone's lines about always meeting the warmest welcome in an inn, are very natural and tender--as most of his compositions are, when he was at all in earnest. For our own part, we cannot complain of ever meeting any other welcome than a warm one, go where we may; for we are not obtrusive, and where we are not either liked, or loved, or esteemed, or admired , we are exceeding chary of the light of our countenance. But at an inn, the only kind of welcome that is indispensable, is a civil one. When that is not forthcoming, we shake the dust, or the dirt, off our feet, and pursue our journey, well assured that a few milestones will bring us to a humaner roof. Incivility and surliness have occasionally given us opportunities of beholding rare celestial phenomena--meteors--falling and shooting stars--the Aurora Borealis, in her shifting splendours--haloes round the moon, variously bright as the rainbow--electrical arches forming themselves on the sky in a manner so wondrously beautiful, that we should be sorry to hear them accounted for by philosophers--one-half of the horizon blue, and without a cloud, and the other driving tempestuously like the sea-foam, with waves mountain-high--and divinest show of all for a solitary night-wandering man, who has anything of a soul at all, far and wide, and high up into the gracious heavens, Planets and Stars all burning as if their urns were newly fed with light, not twinkling as they do in a dewy or a vapoury night, although then, too, are the softened or veiled luminaries beautiful--but large, full, and free over the whole firmament--a galaxy of shining and unanswerable arguments in proof of the Immortality of the Soul.

The whole world is improving; nor can there be a pleasanter proof of that than this very wayside inn--ycleped the SALUTATION. What a miserable pot-house it was long ago, with a rusty-hinged door, that would neither open nor shut--neither let you out nor in--immovable and intractable to foot or hand--or all at once, when you least expected it to yield, slamming to with a bang; a constant puddle in front during rainy weather, and heaped up dust in dry--roof partly thatched, partly slated, partly tiled, and partly open to the elements, with its naked rafters. Broken windows repaired with an old petticoat, or a still older pair of breeches, and walls that had always been plastered and better plastered and worse plastered, in frosty weather--all labour in vain, as crumbling patches told, and variegated streaks, and stains of dismal ochre, meanest of all colours, and still symptomatic of want, mismanagement, bankruptcy, and perpetual flittings from a tenement that was never known to have paid any rent. Then what a pair of drunkards were old Saunders and his spouse! Yet never once were they seen drunk on a Sabbath or a fast-day--regular kirk-goers, and attentive observers of ordinances. They had not very many children, yet, pass the door when you might, you were sure to hear a squall or a shriek, or the ban of the mother, or the smacking of the palm of the hand on the part of the enemy easiest of access; or you saw one of the ragged fiends pursued by a parent round the corner, and brought back by the hair of the head till its eyes were like those of a Chinese. Now, what decency--what neatness--what order--in this household--this private public! into which customers step like neighbours on a visit, and are served with a heartiness and goodwill that deserve the name of hospitality, for they are gratuitous, and can only be repaid in kind. A limited prospect does that latticed window command--and the small panes cut objects into too many parts--little more than the breadth of the turnpike road, and a hundred yards of the same, to the north and to the south, with a few budding hedgerows, half-a-dozen trees, and some green braes. Yet could we sit and moralise, and intellectualise, for hours at this window, nor hear the striking clock.

As Janet went to the kitchen to get the pan of corn-meal, Rachel added shortly: "Feed dem good ef you expecks us to git any sleep tonight!"

The girls sitting on the steps of the porch knew to a certainty the moment the pigs got their supper, for the tumult ceased suddenly. It was silent evidence that they were busy with the tardy supper.

Early in the morning, Rachel roused the household by shouting wildly: "Dem fowl's got out and are in Natalie's wegetables! Da's whad comes f'om not feedin' 'em supper afore bedtime!"

So Janet wearily ran out and raced about, first shooing away one hungry hen and then another, but finally calling on all her friends to help round them up and drive them back to the coop.

"I never knew anything to be more misappropriately named--Plymouth Rocks. The way those horny birds can skip around beats everything!" declared Janet, as she collapsed on the kitchen steps and wiped her streaming face.

"You've just got to keep them locked up until that new wire fence is finished, Janet," commanded Natalie, angrily. "I'm not running a truck-farm for your stock to eat up."

"Poor Nat! She has done nothing since the barnyard pets came, but replant vegetables twice a day," laughed Belle.

After breakfast Janet said she would go to Four Corners and bring back the wire so that no time need be lost in immediately starting the fence.

"I'll go with you, Jan, and help carry it back," offered Belle.

"So'll I, Janet," added Frances.

Norma had too much to do in planting flowers, to think of accompanying her friends, and Natalie was too angry to offer to assist in any way in curbing the chickens' escapades. So the three girls started for the store, leaving the poultry locked securely in the hen-house until such times as the runway was safely inclosed.

But they had not been gone very long, before Frances's father and mother drove up in the automobile. It was Norma who suggested that Mr. Lowden play the Good Samaratin and go for the girls, to help them bring back the roll of wire-netting. So the girls and their wire were soon back again at Green Hill, as I told you fully, in the first book.

Then the main object of the Lowdens' visit was explained, and the rejoicing of the girls was vociferous and deafening. When high spirits had been calmed somewhat by Mr. Lowden's warnings he left the car for them to use that summer.

Frances said: "I think it is a strange coincidence that only last night I should write Daddy a letter and asked him this very great favor. All the time he and Mother were planning it."

After the Lowdens had gone, Janet said she must begin work on the chicken-fence. Mrs. James offered to go with her and help, and Belle said she might as well go, too. Frances had driven her parents to the station, so she was not there to be drafted into service for Janet.

Janet unrolled the entire length of wire upon the ground and then stood studying it, as if for inspiration of how to handle it. Mrs. James watched her, and finally remarked:

"Why did you get it so wide, Janet? It's five feet, at least, and you really do not need it any wider than three feet."

"I was afraid the chickens would fly over if it was only three feet high," explained Janet.

"Well you've got it now, so let's get busy and put it up," was Belle's sensible advice.

"You go over to the other end of the wire, Belle, and stand on it to keep it from flying back as it does every time I move it," suggested Janet, because the netting rolled itself up just when it was not expected to.

Mrs. James supplied herself with a mouthful of nails, and a few extra ones in her hand that held the hammer, then went to the first post in the row. She turned to tell Janet what to do but the nails in her mouth kept her from being understood so she had to remove them before she could speak intelligibly.

"I said for you to drag the wire over to me so I could nail one end to this post," she repeated.

Janet did as she was told, but Belle had stepped from the other end of the wire to get the box so that Mrs. James might put the nails back in the box instead of back in her mouth. Consequently, the moment Janet began to lift the end of the wire the rest of it rebounded like a live thing. It coiled so unexpectedly and suddenly that the opposite end flew up, the ragged ends of the wire scratching Janet's face and then catching in her fluffy hair.

"Ouch! Someone come and get this out of my hair, please!" cried the girl, tears in her eyes.

"Hold perfectly still, for a moment!" called Belle, running over to her assistance.

"Ooh--oo--uch! That hurts, Belle!" cried Janet, as the wires tugged at her hair unmercifully when Belle tried to untangle them. Then she had to call upon Mrs. James to help.

Frances had returned and, from Rachel, heard that the three had gone to the barn to build a chicken run, so she joined them there. She was just in time to hear Janet wail pitifully, and see the free end of the wire twist and writhe. This, of course, made the other end pull the harder on Janet's hair.

"Wait! I'll stand on this end so it can't move. Then you can work better," called Frances, jumping upon the wire as she spoke.

When the hair was freed at last from the hold of the wire ends, Mrs. James advised Frances to remain standing where she was to hold down the netting where it belonged.

"I'll hold it with my hands and when you want to drag it over to the post, just call to me and I will crawl over with it, while holding it to keep it from jumping again," said Frances.

As this was considered a very clever plan, it was approved and Mrs. James again took hold of the wire to nail it fast to a post.

"There now, Janet, while Belle holds it right in this position, you can nail it down all along the edge. Drive the nails about six inches apart, from the top of the post to the bottom," said Mrs. James, handing the tools to Janet.

"Where are you going?" wondered the stock-farmer.

"I'm going back to the house to get a large pair of shears. We will need them to cut off the ragged ends of wire when we reach the side of the chicken-house."

When Mrs. James had gone, Janet said: "Let's see if we can have all the wire up before she gets back. It looks awfully easy to nail."

They were so engrossed in nailing the wire, beginning at the top of the post and fastening it down the outside of the post, that neither of them realized the mistake they were making. Having nailed it securely for halfway the length of the post, Janet found the netting resist her efforts to fit in closely. She stood back to seek an explanation for this and cried, "Oh!"

"What's the matter?" asked Belle, seeing her angry face.

"I never thought to measure the old post. Neither did Jimmy. Our wire is five feet wide and that post can't be more than three and a half feet high. Now just look at that wire!"

They looked, but that did no good at this late moment. The extra one and a half feet of wire overlapped on the ground and was of no use there. It kept the wire from fitting snugly to the post, that was all.

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