The Press., 1894-11-15

to the steep pasture land on the hillside, fringed with elder bushes pride of the meadow, and wild dog roses The even- hg light lay like warm gold on the smooth slope, and the dark oak trees at the top burned with sullen splendor against climbing settlements of little pointed cedars.
 The old Medley Cow and Crumple Horn had come to the bars in search of Elsie and were bawliilg now in. the quiet air, lifting up their voices against her long delay A red calf, with a white star in the forehead, was rubbing against her mothers baggy side and occasionally emitting little plaint to remind Elsie that she had forgotten to bring the warm mash that was to serve for her supper. Elsie put her arm over tho bar and laid it round Crumble Horns neck, while she told the COWS and the calf Buttercup that Uncle Si was dead. Uncle Si had been fond of his old COWS and of all the animals on the farm, and she could but believe that these dumb creatures would grieve to know their friend had gone away never | to return.
 A little flock of sheep was feeding at the top of the green slope, and among them cosset lamb Elsie had brought up by hand, getting out of bed at 5 ill the morning to feed the hungry little creature that looked to her for life be- cause it's own mother had cast it off. 1 The lamb Topsey was now as fat and round as butter ball, with fine fleece, l like fur, and beautiful black stockings and shoes. She came now and thrust her moist black nose through the bars to be petted by her mistress, and all the little flock raced down the hill after Topsey and surrounded the young girl, creeping through the bars to come close and rub their nozzles against her apron in the hope of getting handful of salt She made a picture as she stood there, with the sheep and cattle around her, the wind in her hair and the evening light just touching the side of her brown cheek.
 Paul Raynor had driven up to the barn door. Elsie heard the grating of wheels on the gravel, and stepping out of the barnyard she helped him to un- tackle the old chaise and loosen the | straps of the harness. Then she led old Whitefoot into the stall and gave him his portion of oats, while Paul dragged the chaise under cover. Elsie had the deftness of boy in all such work, and her companion accepted her services as if long used to them. When the little chores were done, he opened the door of Uncle Sis old shop, now turned into kind of Noah's ark by the boys passion for natural history study. Some white and gray pigeons roasted on the beams overhead, and big snapping turtle lay torpid in an old horse trough. Two pairs of bright eyes peeped out of a rab- bit hutch at the boy and girl, for they were little more in fact, though Paul Raynor lowered nearly 6 feet high and had the country lad s strength and hard ihood. Paul kept pair of gray squir- | rels in a revolving cage and some land crabs penned up in one corner with boards, besides 8 little tank with a num- Der of fishes swimming about in it and a raccoon tied up by rope. A rude cage overhead held bobolink, and the skin of an immense henhawk was nailed to the shop door. This was Pauls I boring woods, streams and swamps, and it was Elsie's delight to watch him at his studies and experiments. Every moment of Paul's leisure was spent in spying out the habits of animals, fishes, birds and insects.
 Look here, Elsie," said he now, pulling small cardboard box out of his pocket, with perforations in the cover, "I've bagged a new kind of beetle, and rare fellow think he is. He has nip pers that would almost crack nut '
 ''How could you?' said Elsie re- proachfully, when you were making arrangements for Uncle Sis funeral ''
 A flush of shame came over Paul's handsome face. Why, I didn't think it was any harm, Elsie" he said, with the simple frankness native to him and looking at her with his honest blue eyes that reflected every thought of his soul Nobody can miss poor old Uncle Si more than 1 do. hadn't a. mite of claim on him more than common hu- manity. Father was his old friend, to be sure, and after he died there ill that house ill the woods Uncle Si came with his horse and wagon and brought me home, and am sure he never begrudged what cost him in food and clothes. l | guess poor Uncle Si wouldn't mind if he knew picked up beetle the day after he died. He always said it was good thing for boys to study the habits | of creatures that live in the fields and woods, for it keeps them out of mischief. He bought me all the books of natural history have, my fish book, book of birds and one on hard winged insects.
 II guess, Elsie, l have reason to mourn for Uncle Si if any one has. Don't I re- member how lived alone in that house in the woods with father when he scarcely spoke to me whole week to- gether? I was a little chap then, too young to understand, but know now he was broken spirited, discouraged man. After mother died and he lost his property he wanted to hide himself like some wounded animal that creeps away to die alone. I had no playmates, no human being to speak to. So talked to the crows sitting in among the pines on stump, and believed they knew what said to them. It was at that time l kind of invented a boy to be my friend and to go with me on tramps. ] called him Melchisedec a name 1 pick ed out of fathers big Bible, and we had @ dog that we owned between us called Darkness. Mel was rather sullen boy most times, but he was 8 good hand to find birds nests and to hunt out moles and field mice, and Darkness was good for woodchucks and hedgehogs and all such things. Mel and Darkness were just nothing at all but inventions of mine, but sometimes now 1 see that sul- len, low spirited Mel logging my heels l and haar. Darkness natte1,inor a alnnc cloca