I
used to sail my little boat. All summer long this place was vocal with
the songs of birds, which built their nests in safety among the tall
trees of the grove in the rear of the farm. We had also the music of the
running brook, and the pleasant hum of my father's cotton mill, which
brought us in our daily bread. Haying time was always a happy season for
us boys. Father's two horses, "_Dick_" and "_Bony_" would take off the
farm as large a load of hay as any in the village.

Years past on, and we were a happy band of brothers and sisters. After
Kate, came the twins, Margaret and Herbert, and last of all came the
youngest darling, blue eyed Dora. We had a happy childhood. Our station
in the world was high enough to enable us to have all the harmless
pleasures and studies that were useful and actually necessary to boys
and girls of our station. Father always thought that it was better in
early youth not to force the boys to too hard study, and mother loved
best to see Kate and Margaret using the fingers in fabricating garments,
than in playing the harp. We were free, happy, roving children on
father's farm, unchained by the forms of fashionable life. We had no
costly dresses to spoil, and were permitted to play in the green fields
without a servant's eye, and to bathe in the clear shallow stream
without fear of drowning. As I have said before, these were happy days;
and when I think of them gone, I often express my regret that we did not
improve them more for the cultivation of the mind and the affections. In
the next story you will see that there were some passing clouds in our
early summer days.

MARGARET AND HERBERT.

In a large family there are often diversity of character and varieties
of mood and temper, which bring some clouds of sorrow. In our little
Eden of innocence there were storms now and then. Miles was a little
wild and headstrong from his babyhood, and Margaret, though very
beautiful, was often wilful and vain. For five years the twins had grown
up together the same in beauty and health. One day an accident befell
Herbert, and the dear child rose from his bed of sickness a pale and
crippled boy. His twin sister grew up tall and blooming. The twins loved
each other very much, and it was a pleasant sight to see how the
deformed boy was cherished and protected by his sister Margaret. She
would often leave us in the midst of our plays to go and sit by
Herbert, who could not share with us in them.