turkeys in a coop; I guess you'd better go 'long over there, an' ef
you can't get none o' her'n, by that time our boys'll be to hum, an'
I'll set 'em arter our'n; they'll buckle right to; it's good sport
huntin' little turkeys; an' I guess you'll hev to stop, comin' home,
so's to let me know ef you'll hev 'em."

Off we drove. I stood in mortal fear of Mrs. Peters's tongue,--and
Kate's comments; but she did not make any; she was even more charming
than before. Presently we came to the pine-lot, where Melindy and I
had been, and I drew the reins. I wanted to see Kate's enjoyment of a
scene that Kensett or Church should have made immortal long ago:--a
wide stretch of hill and valley, quivering with cornfields, rolled
away in pasture lands, thick with sturdy woods, or dotted over with
old apple-trees, whose dense leaves caught the slant sunshine, glowing
on their tops, and deepening to a dark, velvety green below, and far,
far away, on the broad blue sky, the lurid splendors of a
thunder-cloud, capped with pearly summits, tower upon tower, sharply
defined against the pure ether, while in its purple base forked
lightnings sped to and fro, and revealed depths of waiting tempest
that could not yet descend. Kate looked on, and over the superb
picture.

"How magnificent!" was all she said, in a deep, low tone, her dark
cheek flushing with the words. Melindy and I had looked off there
together. "It's real good land to farm," had been the sweet little
rustic's comment. How charming are nature and simplicity!

Presently we came to Mrs. Bemont's, a brown house in a cluster of
maples; the door-yard full of chickens, turkeys, ducks, and
geese. Kate took the reins, and I knocked. Mrs. Bemont herself