, while she spoke, on a flat stone out under the
old elm-trees between the "fore-yard" and the barn. Up above was
great blue depth into which you could look through the delicate
stems and flickering leaves of young far tips of branches. One
little white cloud was shining down upon them as it floated in the
sun. Away off swelled billowy tops of hills, one behind another,
making you feel how big the world was. That was what Bel had been
saying.

"You feel so as long as you stay here," replied Miss Blin, "as if
there was room and chance for everything 'over the hills and far
away.' But in the city it all crowds up together; it gets just as
close as it can, and everybody is after the same chances. 'Tain't
_all_ Fourth-of-July; you mustn't think it. Milk's ten cents a
quart, and _jest_ as blue! Don't you 'spose you're better off up
here, after all? Do you think Mrs. Bree could get along without you,
now?"

Bel replied most irrelevantly. She sat watching the fowls
scratching around the barn-door.

"How different a rooster scratches from a hen!" said she. "He just
gives one kick,--out smart,--and picks up what he's after; _she_
makes ever so many little scrabbles, and half the time concludes it
ain't there!--What was it you were saying? About mother? O, _she_
don't want me! The trouble is, Aunt Blin, we two _don't_ want each
other, and never did." She picked up a straw and bent it back and
forth, absently, into little bits, until it broke. Her lips curled
tremulously, and her bright eyes were sad.

Miss Blin knew it perfectly well without being told; but she
wouldn't have pretended that she did, for all the world.

"O, tut!" said she. "You get along well enough. You like one another
full as well as could be expected, only you ain't constituted
similar, that's all. She's great for turning off, and going
ahead, and she ain't got much patience. Such folks never has. You
can't be smart and easy going too. 'Tain't possible. She's
right-up-an'-a-comin', and she expects everybody else to be. But you
_like_ her, Bel; you know you do. You ain't goin' away for that. I
won't have it that you are."

"I like her--yes;" said Bel, slowly. "I know she's smart. I _mean_
to like her. I do it on purpose. But I don't _love_ her, with a
_can't help it_, you see. I feel as if I ought to; I want to have my
heart go out to her; but it keeps coming back again. I could be
happy with you, Aunt Blin, in your up-stairs room, with the blue
milk o