lowing of a cow. Mrs. Wood saw a change pass swiftly over the girl's
face, and a quiver cross the lips so long frozen. She lifted her
head, rose, and followed the sound, and soon stood at the side of
Brindle, who now furnished milk for the miller's family. As the
gentle cow recognized and looked at her, with an expression almost
human in the mild, liquid eyes, all the events of that last serene
evening swept back to Edna's deadened memory, and, leaning her head
on Brindle's horns, she shed the first tears that had flowed for her
great loss, while sobs, thick and suffocating, shook her feeble,
emaciated frame.

"Bless the poor little outcast, she will get well now. That is just
exactly what she needs. I tell you, Peter, one good cry like that is
worth a wagon-load of physic. Don't go near her; let her have her
cry out. Poor thing! It ain't often you see a child love her
granddaddy as she loved Aaron Hunt. Poor lamb!"

Mrs. Wood wiped her own eyes, and went back to her weaving; and Edna
turned away from the mill and walked to her deserted home, while the
tears poured ceaselessly over her white cheeks. As she approached
the old house she saw that it was shut up and neglected; but when
she opened the gate, Grip, the fierce yellow terror of the whole
neighborhood, sprang from the door-step, where he kept guard as
tirelessly as Maida, and, with a dismal whine of welcome, leaped up
and put his paws on her shoulders. This had been the blacksmith's
pet, fed by his hand, chained when he went to the shop, and released
at his return; and grim and repulsively ugly though he was, the only
playmate Edna had ever known; had gamboled around her cradle, slept
with her on the sheepskin, and frolicked with her through the woods,
in many a long search for Brindle. He alone remained of all the