1853. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



131 



mine 

 I slia 



wet, and I fear a good part of it spoiled ; but 

 'nt fret, I never did andl sha'ntbegin now." 



"Father, what is that horse's name, you have 

 got?" A sharp Hash of lightning accompanied 

 by a tremendous peal of thunder, prevented any 

 reply; but little Ellen was not so easily satisfied 

 without an answer. Upon the question being re- 

 peated, j\Ir. Lee whispered in the child's ear, 

 while he gave a half anxious, inquiring glance at 

 his wife, — 



"I don't know, dear, but don't you say any 

 more abnut it, now, Ellen dear ; now mind pa." 



"I will, pa ; but you will tell me ab(nit it, and 

 what you let Nell go for, as soon as it is done rain- 

 ing, wont you father?" 



The truth is, ^Ir. Lee, like all sensil)le people, 

 found it quite satisfactory to himself, to be able to 

 give a good reason even to his children. 



But now he would rather talk with Mrs. Lee 

 alone than to be questioned by the children. 



Ah, Jerry, you well know, or you may know if 

 you will only look at matters candidly, that you 

 forgot for the moment what your old grandfatlier 

 used to say to you, quite as often as you wished 

 to hear it, "never give up a certainty for an un- 

 certainty." And now as you look out at the 

 heavy masses of black clouds, that with the strong 

 east wind give indication of a long storm, you don't 

 care to acknowledge to yourself even, that if you 

 had "let well enough alone," your "best hay" 

 would now have been nicely stowed away in your 

 barn. You don't want to let Mrs. L. and the 

 children know that the vicious animal you have ex 

 changed kind Nell for, despises a horse rake, and 

 will have no more to do with it, than you with a 

 subsoil plow. As the music of neighbor Prentice's 

 rake resounded in your ears this afternoon what 

 were your feelings? I fancy you felt something 

 as you would have done, were you doomed with 

 pinioned hands to listen to the music of your near- 

 est neighbors, and those neighbors Avere — musqui- 

 toes ! 



But we will let it all go, as Jerry said to him- 

 self; we'll let it go, as the money which you 

 saved to pay for that rake, and to pay for this 

 week's hired hands, has gone to pay the difference 

 in value between a kind family horse, and as vi- 

 cious and good for nothing an animal, as you will 

 often find on a farm. 



"But hark ! what is that rumbling noise," ex- 

 claimed George. "It wasn't thunder, no; ah, it's 

 the stage just come over the bridge." 



"I know somebody's coming here — it don't come 

 this way for nothing. Let us all run for the front 

 door ; it is going to stop here — who can it be com- 

 ing here in the stage coach ?" 



"Umph ! think I don't know," exclaimed Bill, 

 "it'ssomebodymade a mistake;" and he wasabout 

 to rectify the same, when an exclamation of joy- 

 ful surprise and recognition from the father pre- 

 vented him from so doing. 



' 0, it is Aunt Fanny," exclaimed every one, as 

 the coach door was swung open and Mr. Lee and 

 the driver assisted a grave-looking lady to alight. 

 A warmer and more hearty welcome, Fanny Lee 

 never received after a long absence, not even when 

 she liad -upon that same threshold, been clasped 

 in the arms of her own dear flither and mother. 



Long years had no power to dim the affection of 

 that brother for his only and orphan sister. Fan- 

 ny was, as we have said, Jerry Lee's only sister, 



and while withher brother, she inherited from her 

 mother a large share of "good nature," she also 

 possessed much good sense, or as Aunt Judy used 

 to say, a "dreadful sight of discrimination." 



Be that as it may ; yet we are sure that Fanny, 

 reserved and quiet as she was, exerted a silent, 

 but powerful influence wherever she moved. 



Iler hand seemed to shed abroad order, regu- 

 larity and peace, and under her eye everything 

 found its proper ;place, and everything was done 

 at the proper time. As Jerry said to his wife, 

 "Fanny has such a pretty way with her, and 

 then she ahvays had, and then she sees into 

 anything so quick ; 'tis true, she makes no noise 

 or palaver about it. But did you mind how quick 

 she noticed my wet hay — and also that the Pren- 

 tice field was all clear 1 One word from her is 

 enough, although she never twits one about one's 

 bad luck." 



No wonder the children loved Aunt Fanny, for 

 she was a capital story-teller. 



"Done reaping! done, all done," exclaimed 

 Bill, as entering the kitchen he tossed his cap on 

 the hook, "and now if Aunt Fanny would like it, 

 father says we may all go down to the oak pas- 

 ture. Are you rested. Aunty? over a week since 

 you came." Aunty was rested, but of course she 

 well knew the children would enjoy the walk quite 

 as well when haying was over, to say nothing of 

 the additional pleasure of having Mr. Lee's com- 

 pany. 



"All ready, Aunt Fanny, all ready for that walk! 

 Father says W3 must be quick, for that good for 

 nothing horse wont stir an inch, and father says 

 we must walk all the way ; but it is so pleasant 

 we wont mind, will we, Aunt Fanny," said little 

 Ellen, as she placed her little warm, soft hand in 

 Fanny's, and with father and the boys before, pi'O- 

 ceeded down the hill, and over the bridge. 



And now as little Ellen leaves Aunt Fanny, and 

 joins the boys in their search for berries, let us 

 follow the brother and sister. 



As they past the old moss-grown and dilapidat- 

 ed school house, memories come rushing back — 

 days of their happy childhood ; and now, seated 

 on a rock, beneath a wide-spreading oak, as Mr. 

 Lee recounts one by one his plans for the future, 

 and his bright hopes of success, why did that sis- 

 ter remain silent, till urged by Mr. Lee to give her 

 opinion in regard to the matter 1 



"I reckon you don't think much of farm- 

 ing,' Fanny. You've been down south, where la- 

 bor is disreputable and degrading, and I guess you, 

 with all your New England sense, can't shake off 

 this feeling in a minute. Nothing strange, though, 

 but I tell you Fanny, farming is the best business 

 in the world, if well followed." 



"Well 7nanaged." 



"Yes, sister, I calculate if you come to see us 

 half a dozen years hence, to show you a little of 

 the profits of farming — there, do you see at the 

 foot of the hill, those men digging that deep 

 ditch, there in the Nelson swamp ?" 



"Yes, what of it?" 



"Nothing, only that is what I call a fair speci- 

 men of folly, or mismanagement. Money thrown 

 away. Would you believe it, if I were to tell you 

 that the clearing of that piece of land cost Pren- 

 tice two hundred dollars, and I think sixty more, 

 at least, will be expended in draining it. Money 

 out of pocket. I longed to tell him better when 



