When the Birds Begin to Sing

N ONE ANOTHER'

ar the preparations without for an early start to the neighbouring market. Her mother is loading a cart of vegetables, while her father "shoos" the cackling geese into wicker pens, and harness

d song, which mingles wit

a jolly m

the Riv

her mother's voice. There is a thud, and a whole sack of potatoe

m up, indulging the

d sang from m

ore blith

ily at the sound, whisking the tiresome flies with her tail. So often Elea

th her apron, replacing them ca

a few specially honoured sheep, who frequently serve him for conversati

s. A group of chickens congregate around her with mute inquiry in their beaky faces. She fetches a ha

the burden

er use

to be sure!" pausing in her ver

or nobody

e cares

"Surely," thinks Eleanor, "there is hidden pathos in the Jolly Miller of Dee's reckless assertion! To care

on which the dinner service is spread. What if nobody cared for her! How vast an

o Eleanor. Of course, it had a soul; she made up her mind long ago on this point. How can a creature with such mysteriously human eyes as Nelly possessed be less hu

ur-legged creatures with horns, and faces resembling tigers or cats. She has been up since five, for

all hands under the scullery tap, and then rea

ribbons, beautiful blue ribbons with pink spots, like the Squire's nieces wore last Sunday. The tall girl was

y in her eyes while she played the Magnificat. Dreams of dainty dresses are dear to her heart as the occasiona

re for something better, which all but

clenched and pressed to her temples, throbbing with intense excitement. All the thoughts tha

which her mother has treasured some hand-made lace le

rly white, and hidden usually from the sun's scorching po

nned hastily on this busy market morning, to adorn her daughter's neck

the glaring day. Her eyes dance, her cheeks are flushed, and her hair escaping

"why not? Stranger things have happened-

to unexpressed surprise at t

she slackens her steps, not wishing to appear over anxious for the rendez

he whispers. "I must call y

s the girl's head. Why not place herself on an equa

may call y

Mr. Roche's features. What a na?ve,

small hand through his arm, and tur

hink of me?" asks El

sity in their depths. She is not seeking a compliment; far fr

tle blue bird's-eye growing on a bank of clover. S

this,"

es

irer than the exotics and hot-house plants which naturally demand admiration. I love this little flower," pres

fence arises

" the words sting M

mpare me to a weed!" she reto

he has offended, and con

their uncultivated beds by Nature's hand, and have as m

she looks at his strong, masterful e

thought you would

n your eyes to soliloquise over a

perplex her.

t and holiday leisure I seem to have grasped the whole history and charm of the place. It contains endless interest in its Godlike simplicity to the recluse or the reader. Look what fields for the naturalist or botanist! Think, too, of an artist here for the first time-what s

, catching at the meadow-sweet, and crumbling it between her finger

. But I must own I didn't enjoy so completely all the beauty of this glad country sce

rally blessed creeps through her lips to her eyes, illuminating her whole counte

ek all our labourers will be reaping, and our barns are ready f

e? Would it giv

es

s nose over the gate of an adjacent field,

you will be pleased, I wi

asp escape

t it, Philip?

t tone, gratified by her humi

?" she asks, for their steps a

d, I s

rs, and as they approach Philip pauses to lean on the wicket gate and view the peaceful homestead silently. The drone of bees and busy presence of insect toil is soothing and melodious. He takes Eleanor's hand and kisses it in the full glare of the mid-day sun under the heavily laden fruit trees.

t directly," says Eleanor; "would you

supplication, mi

by the unostentatious hospitality of his ne

he cries, leading the way out into the garden again. Ph

the carpet beneath his feet, the cattle browsing in verdant pastures, and the murmur of those winged and drowsy honey-laden workers from the meadows, make a picture whic

ing their daughter's invitation, they place the choicest their home affords before the unexpected guest. Thus it is that Philip Roche finds himself

garnered, but still Philip lingers, chained

ountry maiden, pure as the health-laden breezes sighing through the trees. His lov

ing away-I want to take you

question. He cannot do wit

d goes swiftly; for a mome

or's ears. Love is forgotten; she only remembers the vague unsatisfied ambitions of her young dreams. She lets him kiss her l

ps, watching the glorious colour mount to he

ulder, he has gathered her hands about his neck. The br

over Copthorne, while leaves must fall damp and dead in the

king at her heart. She laughs, appa

summer, somet

But when? Next year has three hu

ncingly, shruggi

n the birds b

e silent, Eleanor, before the light of summer goes

oop, her ch