"There you are!" said Captain Pliny. "Mind your own business and leave Yankees to ask questions. Make sail!" he added, turning quick about. "If we've got to show the white feather it shall be a good one!" And as more and more canvass was spread and filled there came another hail borne down on the night wind.

She'll speak louder next time," said Captain Pliny,"And we've got no more canvass. Go below, Mr. Clyde, and take care of your glassware. What man can do has

been done-what the Lord will let him do."

But Thornton stood still.

Two or three port-hole lights appeared now, and presently a brilliant flash shot out into the darkness, and a ball whizzed though the mainsail of the little sloop which was spread out before the wind.

"Plain speaking," said Captain Pliny, almost leaning over the stern of the vessel in his interest.

"There comes another; and a third ;-right through her sails, both on 'em."

But the fourth shot fell astern.

"We gain now," said the Captain with a voice less clear than before. "I doubt Mr. Clyde there's something stronger than wind helping us on."

And as if impelled by some new power the Old Thirteen sped along, until even the lights of the pursuing vessel grew dim in the distance. Not until then did Thornton

quit the deck.

Rosalie sat by Hulda's bed, so motionless that her brother at first paused lest she might be asleep. But she looked up, and as he came and sat down by her she laid her head on his shoulder, and neither spoke nor moved till the day broke. Captain Pliny's advice needed no further repetition.

A MASSACHUSETTS' MORNING.

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CHAPTER XXVI.

O blessed Nature! "O rus! O rus!"
Who cannot sigh for the country thus,
Absorb'd in a worldly torpor

Who does not yearn for its meadow-sweet breath,
Untainted by care, and crime, and death,
And to stand sometimes upon grass or heath,-
That soul, spite of gold, is a pauper!-HOOD.

"Ir's an astonishing thing how much it takes to kill folks!" said Martha Jumps the morning after their safe arrival in Massachusetts. "Beats all my arithmetic. Now here we are, just as 'live as can be,-nobody'd guess to look at us that we'd been chased and run over and shot through."

The scene was the kitchen of the farm-house where Rosalie was to spend the summer; and as Miss Jumps looked out of the open window upon a pleasant expanse of green meadows, cows, chickens, and corn-fields, agreeably diversified with a red barn and a fair little brook, the perils of the sea appeared in strong contrast. Peace was the atmosphere around everything in sight. The cattle cropped their grass in a quiet leisurely way, secure and satisfied; the shadows crept softly down the green slopes, aware of the sun's pursuit, but with no fear of being caught; and in the uncut fields the grass waved to and fro with the very motion of repose. Swift of wing and light of heart, the feather-clad tribes bestirred themselves for breakfast; and filled up that hour of the day with a merry song and chatter which did honour to their good sense and to their business habits. No such morning songster would ever build his nest ill, or talk while it was a building, or tire on the wing when seeking food for his family. Such joy with a day's work before it said

the work would be done well.

Some chickens were already in the cow meadow, circling about the cattle as they nosed the rich herbage and started a thousand insects; and others sauntered along wherever a chance grasshopper or a fly-away butterfly

might lead them. And the little brook murmured of freshness, of coolness, of no work but rest. And yet its work was to run—and it ran,—tumbled too, occasionally, but not as if it thought it hard work. Clearly the brook took things by their smooth handle. It ran not by the road, upon which opened the kitchen windows, but through a dell at the back of the house-which oddly enough was also the front. For the house with singular good taste had set its face to the dell, and into that cool shade looked the best windows and the best door; leaving the kitchen and wood shed in full possession of the road, its dust, and its passing waggons. Even the well with its boom of a water-drawer stood by the roadside, and visitors arriving in that direction had their choice of a walk through or a walk round the house.

"This is a queer place o' yours, Mrs. Hopper," said Martha Jumps, when she had looked out of the window for the space of one minute. "It sounds dreadful quiet after York."

"Don't say!" replied Mrs. Hopper. "Why, there's a noise here sometimes to that point, with the chickens and the dog and the children, that I can't hear myself think."

The voice issued from a dark blue calico sun-bonnet, plentifully sprinkled with white spots, the apex to a tall and slim pyramid of the same. Two brown hands, hard and sunburnt, but nervous and capable withal, rested on the window-sill; and that was the outward display of Mrs. Hopper.

"I s'pose you're used to doin' with such noise as you can get, and makin' the most of it ?" said Martha.

I guess I ought to be used to 'most everything here," said Mrs. Hopper. "All the fetching up I ever got come off o' this farm, and my forbears lived here longer'n I can count. It's a right good one, too." "How come

"Looks enough like it," said Martha.

you to get your house wrong side before ?"

"Didn't get it," said Mrs. Hopper, as if the words implied some mistake on the part of the house builder. "It was sot so a'purpose."

"What for?" said Martha.

WITHIN THE FARM-HOUSE

213

"He was a thoughtful sort of a man that did it," said Mrs. Hopper," and he kind o' fancied the brook looked lonesome. Kitchen winders he said ought to have the sun on to them,-didn't make no odds about the company side, for that warnt never used unless there was company. When a man's alone he wants everything done to him, and round there he said you couldn't hear a waggon go by once a week. That's what they say he said—them that's gone now."

And Mrs. Hopper took off her sun-bonnet, and having carefully bent it into shape, she put it on again; thereby giving a short view of her hair, which had much the colour and appearance of dried corn silk, and of a face strong and weatherbeaten-useful but not ornamental. "Sun-bunnits is dreadful smothery, aint they ?" said Miss Jumps, as she surveyed the operation.

Why my, no," said Mrs. Hopper; "I don't never feel as though I had a stitch o' clothes on about my work without I have a bunnit."

“Well, I think likely you don't," said Martha; “and I knew what that was once myself, but I've got out of the fashion. I haven't been in the country since I was fifteen.'

"The land sakes!" said Mrs. Hopper. "How the goodness did you get along? That's just Jerushy's years. Jerushy's real smart too, though you wouldn't think it to look at her; but she's always enjoyed such ill health. She faints away so easy,-a little scare or anything of that sort'll keel her right over. I wouldn't wonder now if she'd drop if you told her Abijah was coming."

Miss Jumps naturally inquired who Abijah might be.

Abijah ?" said Mrs. Hopper-" why that's my sonAbijah Hopper :-five foot nine in his stockings, and as handsome as a pictur'. He's off to some fur'n country now, fighting for his'n."

"How old is he ?" said Martha.

"Just in his two and twenty," replied Mrs. Hopper. "He was first and then Jerushy; but Jerushy never see her father to know him."

"She didn't!" said Martha.

"No," said Mrs. Hopper, taking off the sun-bonnet and giving it another bend.

Well, who are the children you tell about?" said Martha.

"Not mine," said Mrs. Hopper," the neighbour's saplings come in here whiles and raise Cain with Jerushy." "Got pleasant neighbours here ?" said Martha.

"Pleasant enough as folks run," said Mrs. Hopper,— "and that's pretty much like a flock o' sheep. There's some fine families. But this won't make my child a frock," she added, tying her sun-bonnet with great vigour and tightness. "What time does your folks breakfast ?" "Oh, just when they take a notion," said Martha, imposingly.

That's the time o' day, is it ?" said Mrs. Hopper. "Then I'll tell you what, they'll have to get it without me. I have to pour out coffee bright and early for the men folks, and it saves time to eat as I go along. And two breakfasts in a morning is one too many for my appetite." "I guess they'll all be glad o' the spare one," said Martha. "I'm hungry, for one."

"You look as if you was used to that-stall fed," said Mrs. Hopper. "But Jerushy can fry the eggs as good as I can, every bit whenever they do get up,—and there's bread and butter enough in the pantry-cheese too if they like it, and pies, real good ones. Tell 'em to eat all they can lay their hands on."

They always have their eggs boiled," said Martha.

"Then they don't know what's good," said Mrs. Hopper. "But it's nothing to me if they eat 'em raw. There's eggs enough, and water enough, and kettles enough-fire enough too, for that matter; but if I'm not up to the store in a jiffy Squire Hubbard 'll be off with my quarter of mutton. He owes me two now."

And Mrs. Hopper departed, leaving Martha in great admiration of her smartness and liberality, to get breakfast with Jerusha, who was a chip of the same block ;or rather a whittling-with very faint blue eyes, and a tongue that was strong in proportion.

With this young lady's able assistance and conversation Martha prepared both table and breakfast admirably, and Rosalie found but one thing wanting to her comfort. Now that the time was come for parting with her brother,