resentful thoughts.

It was not very far to the pasture through the wheat-field; and she was
soon there. But when the cows had passed through the gate she let them
go or not, just as they pleased, and turned aside, to think over again,
by the side of the brook, the miserable thoughts of the afternoon; and
the end of these was the murmured prayer with which my story began.

Her thoughts were not very cheerful as she plodded along. She had no
wish to hurry. If she did, she would very likely have to milk Brownie
and Blackie and the rest, besides Fleckie, her own peculiar care. She
said to herself, there was no reason why she should do her sisters'
work, though it was harvest-time and they would come home tired. She
was tired too--though nobody seemed to think she ever did anything to
tire her. She could milk all the cows well enough. She had done it
many a time. But it was one thing to do it of her own free will, and
quite another to do so because her aunt was cross and wanted to punish
her for her morning fault. So she loitered on the road, though the sun
had set and she knew there was danger of the cows passing the gate and
getting in among the wheat, where the fence was insufficient, in the
field below.

"I don't care," she said to herself. "It winna be my fault. The bairns
should have been at home. It's their work, not mine, to mind the cows.
Oh, I wist Effie was at home! There's nothing quite so bad where she is
here. But I'll see to-night if my prayer is heard; that will be
something; and then I'll begin again, and try to be good, in spite of
Aunt Elsie."

CHAPTER TWO.

THE COLPORTEUR.

The cows had not passed the gate. Somebody had opened it for them, and
they were now standing or lying in the yard, in the very perfection of
animal enjoyment. The girls were not at home to milk them, however.
Christie had heard her father's voice calling to them in the lower
field, and she knew it would be full half an hour, and quite dark,
before they could be at home. So, with a sigh, she took the stool and
the milk-pails from a bench near the door, and went to the yard to her
task.

If her short-sighted eyes had seen the long, low wagon that stood at the
end of the house, curiosity would have tempted her to go back to see who
might be there. If she had known that in that wagon her sister Effie
had ridden home a day sooner than she was expected, she would not have
seated herself so quietly to her mil