itchen below, was busy with
the thousand things which Miss Grundy found for her to do.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LINCOLNS

Mary had been at the poor-house about three weeks, when Miss Grundy
one day ordered her to tie on her sun-bonnet, and run across the
meadow and through the woods until she came to a rye stubble, then
follow the footpath along the fence until she came to another strip of
woods, with a brook running through it. "And just on the fur edge of
them woods," said she, "you'll see the men folks to work; and do you
tell 'em to come to their dinner quick."

Mary tied her sun-bonnet and hurried off, glad to escape for a few
moments from the hot kitchen, with its endless round of washing
dishes, scouring knives, wiping door-sills, and dusting chairs. She
had no difficulty in finding the way and she almost screamed for joy,
when she came suddenly upon the sparkling brook, which danced so
merrily beneath the shadow of the tall woods.

"What a nice place this would be to sit and read," was her first
exclamation, and then she sighed as she thought how small were her
chances for reading now.

Quickly her thoughts traversed the past, and her tears mingled with
the clear water which flowed at her feet, as she recalled the time
when, blessed with a father's and mother's love, she could go to
school and learn as other children did. She was roused from her sad
reverie by the sound of voices, which she supposed proceeded from the
men, whose tones, she fancied, were softer than usual. "If I can hear
them, they can hear me," thought she, and shouting as loud as she
could, she soon heard Mr. Parker's voice in answer, saying he would
come directly.

It was a mild September day, and as Mary knew that Sal would take care
of Alice, she determined not to hurry, but to follow the course of the
stream, fancying she should find it to be the same which ran through
the clothes-yard at home. She had not gone far, when she came suddenly
upon a boy and two little girls, who seemed to be playing near the
brook. In the features of the boy she recognized Henry Lincoln, and
remembering what Billy had said of him, she was about turning away,
when the smallest of the girls espied her, and called out, "Look here,
Rose, I reckon that's Mary Howard. I'm going to speak to her."

"Jenny Lincoln, you mustn't do any such thing. Mother won't like it,"
answered the girl called Rose.

But whether "mother would like it," or not, Jenny did not