to smile brightly in return. Every face but one, and that belonged to
Roddy Lester, the eldest of the farmer's four.

"What ails my boy this fine sunshiny morning?" called out mother from
the cool, sweet dimness of the dairy, where she was at work.

Roddy did not answer. He was standing in the ivy-encircled doorway of
the dairy, his hands deep in his pockets, his feet shuffling to and
fro, and on his face a dark, angry cloud.

"Come, Roddy, tell mother the trouble. Is it anything to do with
school? Is there a punishment preparation to be done this morning?"

"No; there isn't!" Roddy roused himself at such a suspicion. "Why,
mother, I told you I was moved up yesterday; don't you remember? But
I'll come inside and tell you all about it."

"No! Tell me from outside all about it."

"Well, then, mother, I don't _want_ to take the children to the meads.
I want to amuse myself. And it's not fair. Saturday's a holiday, and
it's my right to have it!" sullenly said Roddy.

"Your right! Perhaps so, dear! But sometimes it is our privilege to
yield our rights!" quietly said mother, taking her eyes for a second
off the yellowing cream to glance at the boy's gloomy face. "Who told
you to take the children to the meads--father?" she asked.

"Yes, it was. He said I was to take them to the cowslip meads, and not
to stir from there until he came back from market."