ver heard what a small
bird, called the water-wagtail, said, who thought the world was made
for him:--

"Twas for my accommodation
Nature rose when I was born;
Should I die, the whole creation
Back to nothing would return."

That was what the little bird said. But father was mistaken this time.
I felt remarkably humble for me. I had been thinking so much about the
hatchet that I couldn't have a very high opinion of myself, to save my
life.

It was twenty miles to cousin Lydia's. When we got there she was
looking for us. I knew her very well, but had never been at her house
before. It was a pretty white cottage, with woodbines creeping over
it, and Boston pinks growing by the front door-stone. There was a red
barn and barnyard on one side of the house, and a woodshed on the
other; and in front of the porch door, facing the street, was a well,
with an old oaken bucket, hanging on a pole. I had never seen a
well-sweep before, and supposed it must be far nicer than a pump.

Cousin Lydia had a farmer husband in a striped frock, and a beautiful
old mother in a black dress and double-frilled cap. Then there were
her husband's two sisters, who lived with her, and a cat and a dog;
but not a child to be seen.

I didn't feel quite clear in my mind about staying; but cousin Lydia
seemed to expect I would, and showed me a little cheese-hoop, about as
big round as a dinner-plate, saying she would press a cheese in it on
purpose for me, and I might pick pigweed to "green" it, and tansy to
give it a fine taste. So I should almost make the cheese myself; what
would my mother say to that? Then there were the beehives, which were
filling with honey, and some late chickens, which were going to chip
out of the shell in a week. Remarkable events, every one; but it was
the tansy cheese which decided me at last, and I told father he might
go without me; I wanted to stay and make a visit.

It was not till he was fairly out of sight that I remembered what a
long visit it would be. Why, I shouldn't see mother for as much as a
month! A new and dreadful feeling swept over me, as if I was left all
alone in the great empty world, with nothing to comfort me as long as
I lived.

Samantha, one of Mr. Tenney's sisters, found me an hour afterwards
sitting beside a chicken-coop, crying into my apron. She asked me if I
was homesick. I thought not; I only wanted to see my mother, and I
felt bad "right here," laying my ha