directions, sticking to carpet and curtains, and making Molly much
extra work on the busiest day in the week.

But the worst time was when Steven came home to find him sitting in a
corner, crying bitterly, one hand tied to his chair. He had been put
there for punishment. It seemed that busy morning that everything he
touched made trouble for somebody. At last his exploring little
fingers found the plug of the patent churn. The next minute he was a
woebegone spectacle, with the fresh buttermilk pouring down on him,
and spreading in creamy rivers all over the dairy floor.

These weekly trips were times of great anxiety for Steven. He never
knew what fresh trouble might greet him on his return.

One day they sold out much earlier than usual. It was only eleven
o'clock when they reached home. Grandma Dearborn was busy preparing
dinner. Robin was not in sight. As soon as Steven had helped to
unhitch the horses he ran into the house to look for him. There was no
answer to his repeated calls. He searched all over the garden,
thinking maybe the child was hiding from him and might jump out any
moment from behind a tree.

He was beginning to feel alarmed when he saw two little bare feet
slowly waving back and forth above the tall orchard grass. He slipped
over the fence and noiselessly along under the apple-trees. Robin was
lying on his stomach watching something on the ground so intently that
sometimes the bare feet forgot to wave over his back and were held up
motionless.

With one hand he was pulling along at a snail's pace a green leaf, on