s for my
feather-bed," laughed Ben, grateful for present comforts and making
light of past hardships.

"Clean, sweet corn-husks ain't bad for young bones, even if they haven't
got more flesh on them than yours have," answered Mrs. Moss, giving the
smooth head a motherly stroke as she went by.

"Fat ain't allowed in our profession, ma'am. The thinner the better for
tight-ropes and tumblin'; likewise bareback ridin' and spry jugglin'.
Muscle's the thing, and there you are."

Ben stretched out a wiry little arm with a clenched fist at the end of
it, as if he were a young Hercules, ready to play ball with the stove if
she gave him leave. Glad to see him in such good spirits, she pointed to
the well outside, saying pleasantly,--

"Well, then, just try your muscle by bringing in some fresh water."

Ben caught up a pail and ran off, ready to be useful; but, while he
waited for the bucket to fill down among the mossy stones, he looked
about him, well pleased with all he saw,--the small brown house with a
pretty curl of smoke rising from its chimney, the little sisters sitting
in the sunshine, green hills and newly-planted fields far and near, a
brook dancing through the orchard, birds singing in the elm avenue, and
all the world as fresh and lovely as early summer could make it.

"Don't you think it's pretty nice here?" asked Bab, as his eye came back
to them after a long look, which seemed to take in every thing,
brightening as it roved.

"Just the nicest place that ever was. Only needs a horse round
somewhere to be complete," answered Ben, as the long well-sweep came up
with a dripping bucket at one end, an old grindstone at the other.

"The judge has three, but he's so fussy about them he won't even let us
pull a few hairs out of old Major's tail to make rings of," said Betty,
shutting her arithmetic, with an injured expression.

"Mike lets me ride the white one to water when the judge isn't round.
It's such fun to go jouncing down the lane and back. I do love horses!"
cried Bab, bobbing up and down on the blue bench to imitate the motion
of white Jenny.

"I guess you are a plucky sort of a girl," and Ben gave her an approving
look as he went by, taking care to slop a little water on Mrs. Puss, who
stood curling her whiskers and humping up her back at Sancho.

"Come to breakfast!" called Mrs. Moss; and for about twenty minutes
little was said, as mush and milk vanished in a way that would have
astonished even