The farm was the very nicest place in the whole world. At least that is
what the three little girls thought. Everything about it was nice. The
rooms were big and cool and low. The wide side porch was a lovely place
to eat dinner. The big low attic was splendid for rainy-day play; but
the very, very nicest of all the nice things at the farm was Mary White.

Mary was nine years and she had lived on the farm all her life. She knew
all the good places to play. She could call every animal on the farm by
name. She could make up the most delightful games. What a splendid
playmate she was!

First she took the children to the pasture to see the cows. There were
three of them, Bonny-Belle, Bess, and Buttercup.

Beside Buttercup was the dearest little calf with long thin legs and a
soft tan coat. It was Don, Buttercup's first baby. He was just two
months old and very full of life and mischief.

"Is that another cow over there?" said Peggy, pointing to a field beyond
the pasture. "Oh, no," said Mary, "That's Big Ben. He is a very wild and
cross bull, so he has to have a home all by himself. No one ever goes
into his field except Billy. Big Ben seems to hate people. But what he
hates most is anything that is red."

The children peeped in at Big Ben, with nice safe-afraid shivers going
down their backs. Then Mary said, "Come let's go to the farmyard."

The farmyard was a very busy place. "I never saw so many pets in all my
life," said Betty. But Mary knew them all. She showed them Mrs. Speckle