her little limbs were hung on wires, and no little girl in the
neighborhood could do her daily tasks in the time she could, and they
were no inconsiderable tasks, either.

Very soon after her arrival she was set to "winding quills," so many
every day. Seated at Mrs. Polly's side, in her little homespun gown,
winding quills through sunny forenoons--how she hated it. She liked
feeding the hens and pigs better, and when she got promoted to driving
the cows, a couple of years later, she was in her element. There were
charming possibilities of nuts and checkerberries and sassafras and
sweet flag all the way between the house and the pasture, and the
chance to loiter, and have a romp.

She rarely showed any unwillingness to go for the cows; but once, when
there was a quilting at her mistress's house, she demurred. It was
right in the midst of the festivities; they were just preparing for
supper, in fact. Ann knew all about the good things in the pantry, she
was wild with delight at the unwonted stir, and anxious not to lose
a minute of it. She thought some one else might go for the cows that
night. She cried and sulked, but there was no help for it. Go she had
to. So she tucked up her gown--it was her best Sunday one--took her
stick, and trudged along. When she came to the pasture, there were her
master's cows waiting at the bars. So were Neighbor Belcher's cows
also, in the adjoining pasture. Ann had her hand on the topmost of her
own bars, when she happened to glance over at Neighbor Belcher's, and
a thought struck her. She burst into a peal of laughter, and took a
step towards the other bars. Then she went back to her own. Finally,
she let down the Belcher bars, and the Belcher cows crowded out, to
the great astonishment of the Wales cows, who stared over their high
rails and mooed uneasily.