pon his cheek. "Have your old foes driven
you from your homestead, and shut you out from the mansion and from me?
I see, I see! Not another word! I know that it is my fault. Forgive me!
I will right the wrong without delay. I will, indeed! And Dido will do
her best to help me. Depend on us. When the sun has dried the dew from
the grass, meet us at our old trysting place by the Rose Bush, and you
shall see us scatter the Pixies, and give back the Home Lawn to my
Brownie brothers. Good-bye!"

He lay down again, but could not sleep. His thoughts were too busy with
the past, and too sad, in sooth, to allow rest. He aroused Dido and told
her all. Like a good wife she heartily sympathized with him in his new
resolves, and agreed to join him in the crusade against the Pixies.

Breakfast over, the two went out to the lawn. "Let the gardener bring up
the lawn mower," said Dido.

"Not I," answered Wille. "I shall do the work myself. It is quite as
little atonement as I can make for neglecting my old, true Brownie
friends."

He threw off his coat, donned his wide-brimmed hat, and brought the
scythe from the tool house. The hone rung merrily upon the steel as the
Governor sharpened the blade. He had not forgotten his skill of earlier
days, and while he was bringing the scythe to a good edge his mind
followed along the path of his life to the quiet village among the green
hills on the banks of Little Beaver Creek, where his boyhood had been
spent.

One spot very dear to memory came into view--Aunt Fanny's farm! The
good, strong face of dear old Aunt Fanny arose before him. What happy
days he had spent in her quiet country home! He felt again the thrill of
holiday freedom that stirred his young heart on those summer days when
he set out upon the four miles' walk to the farm. In imagination once
more he passed the old Factory Dam; he saw the water tumbling over its
breast; he stood on the Sandy and Beaver Canal locks, and watched Sam
Underwood and Ike Clunk pull up their dipnets from the bays. With what
eagerness of interest did he gaze when the net was swung ashore with a
silvery sucker or a pink chub swaying down the centre!

On, on, along the Elkrun Valley. There is Orr's; and there is Meldrum's;
and there is Charters' farm; and there is Kimball's mill; and there is
Squire Clem Crow's cooper shop; and yonder is Elkton. One mile more! The
road turns here to the left, winds down the deep cleft of Pine Hollow,
shady the whole s