were so lined with primroses that
the scent greeted you across the road.

In those warm days, when school was over, and on half-holidays,
Huldah took her work across to the field, and sat in the sunshine
surrounded by the gold-starred hedges, where the ferns and violets
and ladies' smocks fought for room, and mingled in one sweet tangle
of beauty. She was very, very happy in those days, and busy from
morning till night. She had her house-work, her school-work, and
also her basket-making, and she worked very hard indeed at the last,
for by means of it she was able to buy many little comforts for
"Aunt Martha," as she had learnt to call Mrs. Perry, and was able to
clothe herself, and put something by in the bank. At least, she
hoped to be able to go on doing that, if the orders came in as they
had done.

"When I leave school I shall have ever so much more time, too," she
thought, joyfully,--for Huldah did not love school, and longed for
the time when she would be freed from it.

In the middle of the field rose a high hillock, over which the young
lambs loved to run and play in the spring-time, and on the top of the
hillock lay the trunk of a large tree, which had lain there ever
since a storm had blown it down years ago.

Huldah, at any rate, was glad of the idleness which had never put the
tree to any good use, for it formed her favourite seat now. The view
from it was lovely, she could look right down over the slope of the
hill to the woods and stream at the foot, and then away up over the
moorland beyond, and she could see the road, too, and keep watch over
the cottage, and if Aunt Martha wanted her, she had only to step to
the door and wave her hand.

Sometimes during that summer she got Mrs. Perry up to the fallen tree
too, and more than once they had their tea there. But Mrs. Perry was
not very fond of sitting out of doors, and more often Huldah was
alone, save for Dick, alone with her thoughts and hopes and dreams.

That summer was a long and hot one, with frequent heavy
thunderstorms. Mrs. Perry could not endure the storms, they made her
feel ill, and frightened her, until all her nerves were set
quivering. Huldah herself felt no fear, but she did dread the storms
for her aunt's sake, and there seemed no end to them that summer.

"I do believe there's another coming up," she sighed, as, suddenly
noticing that the light was going, she lifted her eyes from her work
and looked about her. "I'd better