CHAPTER X 



A Wary Mother 



IT was fence-mending time in the country, 

 and Ben and I were on our way to the pasture 

 land to look after a half-mile of brush fence 

 that ran through the deep pine and hemlock 

 woods. 



It was always a red letter day for me when 

 old Ben came to the farm to work for my 

 father. 



Fence-mending time in New England is 

 about the first of May, or perhaps a little 

 earlier, if the farmer is forehanded; so, you 

 see, it was just the time of year to see things 

 in the deep woods, if one had the eyes to see 

 them. 



All the world seemed joyous this glorious 

 May morning, and it made me glad just to 

 hear the pleasant sounds about me. 



The young stock were lowing, and the lit- 

 tle lambs were frisking and bleating. The 



