lecked
Guinea-fowls, and a bright variety of pure white, and purple-necked, and
blue and cinnamon plumed pigeons. Irresistible spectacle to Shirley! She
runs to the pantry for a roll, and she stands on the door step
scattering crumbs. Around her throng her eager, plump, happy feathered
vassals John is about the stables, and John must be talked to, and her
mare looked at. She is still petting and patting it when the cows come
in to be milked. This is important; Shirley must stay and take a review
of them all. There are perhaps some little calves, some little
new-yeaned lambs--it may be twins, whose mothers have rejected them.
Miss Keeldar must be introduced to them by John, must permit herself the
treat of feeding them with her own hand, under the direction of her
careful foreman. Meantime John moots doubtful questions about the
farming of certain "crofts," and "ings," and "holmes," and his mistress
is necessitated to fetch her garden-hat--a gipsy straw--and accompany
him, over stile and along hedgerow, to hear the conclusion of the whole
agricultural matter on the spot, and with the said "crofts," "ings," and
"holms" under her eye. Bright afternoon thus wears into soft evening,
and she comes home to a late tea, and after tea she never sews.

After tea Shirley reads, and she is just about as tenacious of her book
as she is lax of her needle. Her study is the rug, her seat a footstool,
or perhaps only the carpet at Mrs. Pryor's feet: there she always
learned her lessons when a child, and old habits have a strong power
over her. The tawny and lionlike bulk of Tartar is ever stretched beside
her, his negro muzzle laid on his fore paws--straight, strong, and
shapely as the limbs of an Alpine wolf. One hand of the mistress
generally reposes on the loving serf's rude head, because if she takes
it away he groans and is discontented. Shirley's mind is given to her
book. She lifts not her eyes; she neither stirs nor speaks--unless,
indeed, it be to return a brief respectful answer to Mrs. Pryor, who
addresses deprecatory phrases to her now and then.

"My dear, you had better not have that great dog so near you; he is
crushing the border of your dress."

"Oh, it is only muslin. I can put a clean one on to-morrow."

"My dear, I wish you could acquire the habit of sitting to a table when
you read."

"I will try, ma'am, some time; but it is so comfortable to do as one has
always been accustomed to do."

"My dear, let me beg of