when tiny and johnny had measles, as they had so many things, together, one spring, they were both left rather weak and good-for-nothing, so mr. leslie, after a good deal of hunting, found a farmhouse which seemed to him about what he wanted, and took board there for the whole summer, and the whole family. he meant to arrange his work so that he could often take a two-or-three-days’ holiday, beside going home every evening, for he was never so busy in the summer as he was in the winter, and he felt the need of rest and change.
it was a “really and truly farmhouse,” as tiny said, standing back from the road, at the end of a long green lane, shaded by tall, thick pine trees. and, better still, the nearest railway station was five miles away, and a large, old-fashioned stage, drawn by two tall, thin horses, met the morning and evening trains.
the farmhouse was long and low, with a gambrel roof and great dormer windows, and what garrets that combination makes! it was whitewashed all over the outside—and the inside, too, for that matter—and had faded green shutters. there was a large porch at the front door, with benches at each side, and a small one at the back door, and a wide hall ran straight through the middle of the house, from one porch to the other.
the farm was no make-believe affair of a few acres, with only two or three horses and cows, and a flock of chickens. orchards and grain fields, meadows and “truck-patches,” stretched away on all sides, almost as far as one could see. twenty sleek cows came meekly every morning and evening to be milked; six horses were to be watered three times a day; at least a hundred solemn black chickens, with white topknots, scratched about the great barn. turkeys strutted, ducks and geese quacked, and there was even a pair of proud peacocks. in short, johnny informed tiny, before they had been there a day, that it was exactly the sort of farm he meant to have when he was grown up; the only difference he should make would be to have the slide down the side of the haymow a little higher, and to turn half the farmhouse into a gymnasium.
mr. and mrs. allen, who owned this land of enchantment, and let people live in it for six dollars a week, apiece, were kind, comfortable people, who liked to see their boarders eat heartily, and drink plenty of milk.
they had two tall sunburnt “boys,” who did most of the farm work, except in the very busy season, when three or four “hired men” helped them. and they had two daughters, one a fine, handsome girl, twenty years old, and the other three or four years older, and with no beauty in her face but that of a very sweet and pleasant expression. it was this one, whose name was ann, who showed the tired travellers to their rooms, on the evening of their arrival, and waited on them while they ate their supper, and brought a pitcher of fresh water and a lighted lamp, when she heard mrs. leslie tell the children it was bedtime. she seemed surprised, they thought, when mrs. leslie gently thanked her.
they found, the next day, that the other daughter was named julia, and as time went on, and they saw more and more of the daily life on the farm, they could not help noticing that, while julia did her share of the general work cheerfully and well, it was always ann who seemed to think of little uncalled-for kindnesses and helps, although she did this so quietly and unobtrusively, that it was some time before they observed it.
her mother and sister were in the habit of asking her to “just” do this or that, to run upstairs or “down-cellar” for something; her father and the boys nearly always came to her for any chance bit of sewing they wanted done, and even the great watch dog and the sober old yellow cat seemed to take for granted that she should be the one to feed them. and the children saw that to all these calls upon her time and attention she responded not only willingly, but gladly.
mrs. allen, good-tempered as she usually was, was sometimes“tried,” as she expressed it, when things “went contrary,” and julia, although generally in a good humor, and sometimes even frolicsome, was inclined to be fretful if her wishes and plans were crossed; but the pleasant serenity of ann’s face was seldom ruffled, and before long the children found themselves going to her for help and sympathy in their plans and arrangements, just as her own family did.
“and i tell you, tiny, she’s first rate!” said johnny, warmly, one day, when “miss ann” had left her sewing to help him find his knife, and had found it, too. “mrs. allen’s very kind and nice, and miss julia’s thundering—i mean very—pretty, but i do think miss ann has one of the pleasantest faces i ever saw, and i’d be willing to lose my knife, and have it stay lost, if i could find out how she manages always to know just what everybody wants, and to do it as if it was what she wanted herself. i’ve three quarters of a mind to ask her. would you?”
“why, yes, i don’t see why you shouldn’t,” said tiny, after thinking a minute; “only i would put in, to please not tell unless she really and truly didn’t mind, for you know she might not like to tell, and yet not like to say so. i’d make her promise that first, before you say what it is.”
“i sometimes think you have more sense than i have, tiny—about some things, that is,” said johnny, nodding his head approvingly. “i’ll fix her that way; and if you see her off in the orchard, or anywhere where it would be a good chance, i wish you’d tell me.”
to this tiny agreed, and for several days she and johnny kept watch over their unconscious victim, hoping for a chance to see her alone, growing quite impatient, at last, and declaring that they didn’t believe she ever did sit down!
“except to eat her breakfast and dinner and supper,” amended johnny.
“and to put on and take off her shoes and stockings,” added tiny; “though you can do even that sort of hopping about on one foot, for i’ve tried it.”
“well, i should think she would be just about tired to death, every night of her life,” said johnny; “and yet she’s every bit as nice and pleasant when she says good night, as she is when we go down to breakfast in the morning. i tell you what it is, tiny leslie, i’m tired of waiting for her just to happen to sit down where we can catch her. i mean to write her a note, and ask her to meet us in the haymow, and fix her own time!”
“why, yes,” said tiny, joyfully; “that’s the very thing. why didn’t we think of it sooner, i wonder? will you write it right away, johnny, or wait till after dinner?”
“oh, right away,” said johnny; “dinner won’t be ready for an hour and more.”
so johnny asked his mother for a sheet of paper and an envelope, and wrote very carefully,—
“dear miss ann:—we want to speak to you about something, but you don’t ever sit down, or at least we never see you. can you meet us in the haymow this afternoon, at four o’clock? if you haven’t time, we will do something to help you, if you will let us.
“very respectfully yours,
“john leslie.
“p. s. if you can come, please let us know at dinner time. any other time would do.
“j. l.”
the note was duly delivered across the ironing-board, and when they went to dinner miss ann smiled, and nodded mysteriously at johnny, to his great delight, and whispered to him, as she handed him his plate,—
“i’ll be there, and you needn’t help me, dear; but i’m just as much obliged to you as if you did.”
but when she said this, she did not know that a carriage-load of cousins would arrive that afternoon at half past three, and respond to the very first cordial request to “take off your things, now do, and stay to tea?”
so four o’clock found miss ann in the kitchen, not by any means eating bread and honey, but mixing light biscuit for tea; and when johnny and tiny, having waited impatiently in the haymow for fully five minutes, went to hunt her up, they found her so engaged, and she said, pleasantly,—
“i hope it’ll keep till to-morrow, dear, for i shall be busy right on from now till bedtime, i’m afraid. cousin samuel’s folks don’t come here often, and mother’s set her heart on giving them a real good tea.”
“but where’s miss julia?” asked johnny, without stopping to think that he had no right to ask this question; for he was very much disappointed.
“oh, she’d just dressed herself all clean for the afternoon,” said miss ann, cheerfully; “so i told her to go along in and talk to ’em, while mother fixed up. i’d rather cook than talk to a lot of folks, any day in the year!” and she laughed so contentedly that tiny and johnny found themselves laughing too.
two or three more days passed, and still miss ann was hindered from keeping her mysterious appointment, until tiny and johnny, growing desperate, marched into the kitchen one afternoon, at four o’clock, and appealed to mrs. allen, who was sitting in the old green rocking-chair, knitting a stocking, while miss ann, her round face flushed with heat, stood by the stove, waiting for her third and last kettleful of blackberries to be ready to go into the jars.
“mrs. allen,” said johnny, solemnly, “we’ve been trying for one week to catch miss ann; we want her up in the haymow for something very particular, and every day something happens, and we’ve never seen her sit down once since we’ve been here, and you’re her mother, and we thought perhaps you’d not mind telling her she must come!”
mrs. allen laughed heartily, but she did something better, too; she put down her knitting, and, marching up to miss ann, took the spoon out of her hand, saying with good-natured authority,—
“there! you go right along with the children, and don’t show your head in this kitchen till tea’s ready! because you’re a willing horse, is no reason you should be drove to death, and i’m quite as able to finish up these blackberries as you are!”
so, in spite of her laughing protests, the children dragged their victim off in triumph, and never let go of her until they had throned her in state upon a pile of hay.
