There appears to be only one post a day here; but Mrs. Anderson tells me
that by walking up to Orton village I might find letters awaiting
to-morrow's morning delivery. I was ass enough to go over this
afternoon, and of course found nothing.
As I passed the barn on my way in, my ear was saluted by much laughter
and shouting. I came upon Annie giving her little brothers a swing. Both
great doors of the barn were turned back upon the outside wall and the
swing hanging by long ropes to the rafters, and holding two chubby
urchins together on the seat, swung out now into the sunshine, now back
into the gloom, while Annie stood and pushed merrily. Three tiny calves,
penned off in a loose box at one end of the building, stared over the
low partition with soft, astonished eyes. It was a charming little
picture.
"There, Tim! I can only give you six more!" cries Annie. "I've got to go
and make the puddings" (she said "puddens," but what matter?). Before
she goes she pulls a handful of grass from the threshold and offers it
to the calves. While they tug it this way and that to get it from her
hand, she endeavours to plant a kiss on the moist black muzzle of the
smallest, but he promptly and ungallantly backs and the grass falls to
the ground.
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