CHAPTER V. 



OUR OLD-GARDEN BIRDS. 



ON the outskirts of an old village stands a quaint 

 cottage, built early in the last century, and as 

 yet unmarred by any modern improvements. Most 

 appropriately, it is occupied by old people. A 

 weather-beaten board at the little gate has painted 

 upon it "Cakes and Beer," and there is not a 

 youngster in the neighborhood, nor an adult either, 

 but will testify to the excellence of the foaming 

 beverage and spicy gingerbread that are ever ready 

 for the hungry and thirsty wayfarer. For many and 

 many a year there has been a constant dropping of 

 pennies upon the little counter or into the wrinkled 

 palm of Aunt Peggy, whose "Thank thee" is veri- 

 table music to him who recalls it as the same voice 

 that sounded so sweetly in the long-gone, unappre- 

 ciated days of early childhood. 



In the course of a recent ramble I passed by that 

 quaint cottage for, perhaps, the thousandth time, and, 

 the back door being open, caught a glimpse of the 

 old garden, which I had not visited for almost half 



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