The next morning my parents were gone. I cried sadly, but was
comforted at hearing they would return in a month and fetch me home.
Grandmamma gave me a little basket to gather my flowers in. I went out
to the orchard, and before I had half filled my basket I forgot all my
troubles.
The time I passed at my grandmamma's farm is always in my mind.
Sometimes I think of the good-natured, pied cow that would let me
stroke her while the dairy-maid was milking her. Then I fancy myself
running after the dairy-maid into the nice, clean dairy, and see the
pans full of milk and cream. Then I remember the wood-house; it had
once been a barn, but being grown old, the wood was kept there. I used
to peep about among the fagots to find the eggs the hens sometimes
left there. A hen, grandmamma said, is a kindly bird, always laying
more eggs than she wants on purpose to give them to her mistress for
puddings and custards.
Nothing could have been more pleasant than the day the orchard was
mowed. The hay smelled so sweet and I might toss it about as much as
ever I pleased. It was green at first, and then turned yellow and dry,
and was carried away in a cart to feed the horses.
When the currants and gooseberries were quite ripe, grandmamma had a
sheep-shearing.
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