here?" asked Dixon.

"Welly on for all day," answered Libbie.

"Hast never been to see the deer, or the king and queen oaks? Lord, how
stupid."

His wife pinched his arm, to remind him of Franky's helpless condition,
which of course tethered the otherwise willing feet. But Dixon had a
remedy. He called Bob, and one or two others, and each taking a corner
of the strong plaid shawl, they slung Franky as in a hammock, and thus
carried him merrily along, down the wood paths, over the smooth, grassy
turf, while the glimmering shine and shadow fell on his upturned face.
The women walked behind, talking, loitering along, always in sight of
the hammock; now picking up some green treasure from the ground, now
catching at the low hanging branches of the horse-chestnut. The soul
grew much on this day, and in these woods, and all unconsciously, as
souls do grow. They followed Franky's hammock-bearers up a grassy knoll,
on the top of which stood a group of pine trees, whose stems looked like
dark red gold in the sunbeams. They had taken Franky there to show him
Manchester, far away in the blue plain, against which the woodland
foreground cut with a soft clear line. Far, far away in the distance on
that flat plain, you might see the motionless cloud of smoke hanging
over a great town, and that was Manchester,--ugly, smoky Manchester,
dear, busy, earnest, noble-working Manchester; where their children had
been born, and where, perhaps, some lay buried; where their homes were,
and where God had cast their lives, and told them to work out their
destiny.

"Hurrah! for oud smoke-jack!" cried Bob, putting Franky softly down on
the grass, before he whirled his hat round, preparatory to a shout.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" from all the men. "There's the rim of my hat lying
like a quoit yonder," observed Bob quietly, as he replaced his brimless
hat on his head with the gravity of a judge.

"Here's the Sunday-school children a-coming to sit on this shady side,
and have their buns and milk. Hark! they're singing the infant-school
grace."

They sat close at hand, so that Franky could hear the words they sang,
in rings of children, making, in their gay summer prints, newly donned
for that week, garlands of little faces, all happy and bright upon that
green hill-side. One little "Dot" of a girl came shily behind Franky,
whom she had long been watching, and threw her half-bun at his side, and
then ran away and hid herself, in very shame at the boldnes