A NEW PLACE TO LOAF. 



49 



in a bantering way, as if calling me the foolish 

 boy that I was. It was irritating beyond endur- 

 ance, and so, with the usual unreason of piqued 

 youth, I crept into the hay-mow, and, while 

 smarting from self-inflicted pain, fell asleep. 

 Hours passed, and then, starting from a night- 

 mare dream, I went sullenly to the house. Every 

 one smiled as I entered. What was the matter ? 

 Every one was silent, but the secret could not 

 be kept. A picnic party had called for me. " It 

 is so seldom thee hears me," remarked my aunt, 

 " that I did not think it worth my while to call 

 thee to-day," and then everyone smiled exasper- 

 atingly. No dinner, no picnic, no appetite for 

 supper ; but my eyes were opened. 



It is the same hay-mow as forty years ago, 

 when first I saw it ; the same as eighty years 

 ago, when my father watched it building, and 

 made it his playground, if not a lazy lad's refuge. 

 Here is the same loose floor that needs a thick 

 mat of hay to render it safe to walk over, and, in 

 one sense, the same dusty festoons of cobwebs 

 clinging to every corner ; while the roof, as of 

 old, is starred with mud-wasps' nests and dotted 

 with the swallows' masonry. My father's play- 

 ground ! Did he, too, I wondered, often linger 

 here, thinking much the same thoughts and plan- 

 ning his life's battles while idly resting on the 

 hay ? It is not upon record, nor need be, but 



