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“ÔøΩ You won’t sell her to a hard master, will you?’ says she. ÔøΩI want her to go where she’ll be well cared for, an’ I shall know where she is; for if ever things come right agin, I want to hev her back. She ÔøΩs been half my livin’ an’ all my company for quite a spell, an’ I shall miss her dreadfully.’

“ÔøΩ Well,’ says I, ÔøΩI’ll take her down to Squire Hollis’s in Avondale; he ÔøΩs got a cow-barn good enough for a Representative to set it, an’ clean water, an’ chains to halter ÔøΩem up with, an’ a dry yard where the water all dreens off as slick as can be, an’ there an’n’t such a piece o’land nowhere round for rootcrops; an’ the Squire he sets suchstore by his cows an’ things, I’ve heerd tell he turned off two Irishmen for abusin’ on ÔøΩem; an’ they has their bags washed an’ their tails combed every day in the year, — an’ I don’t know but what they ties ÔøΩem up with a blew ribbin.'”

“Get out!” growled Grandfather.

“Can’t, jest yet, Squire, not t’ll I’ve done. Anyway, I figgered it off to her, an’ she was kinder consoled up to think on ÔøΩt; for I told her I thought likely you’d buy her cow, an’ when we come to do the tradin’ part, why, con-found it! She wa’n’t no more fit to buy an’ sell a critter than my three-year-old Hepsy. I said a piece back I ha’n’t got much natur’,an’a man that trades dumb beasts the biggest part o’ the time hed n’t oughter hev; but I swan to man! Natur’ was too much for me this time; I could n’t more ha’ bought the cow cheap that I could ha’ sold my old gran’ther to a tin-peddler. Somehow, she was so innocent, an’ she felt so to part with the critter, an’ then she let me know ÔøΩt George was in the army; an’ thinks I, I guess I’ll help the Gov’ment along some; I can’t fight, ’cause I’m subject to rheumatiz in my back, but I can look out for them that can; so, take the hull on’t, long an’ broad, why, I up an’ gin her seventy-five dollars for that cow,— an’ I’d ha’ gin twenty more not to ha’ seen Miss Adams’s face a-lookin’ arter me an’ her when we went away from the door.

“So now, Squire, you can take her or leave her.”

Aaron Stow knew his man. Squire Hollis put out his pocket-book and paid seventy-five dollars on the spot for a native cow called Biddy.

“Now clear out with your Ayrshires!” said he, irascibly.”I’m a fool, but I won’t buy them, too.”

“Well, Squire, good day,” said Aaron, with a grin.

But I am credibly informed that the next week he did come back with the two Ayrshires, and sold them to Grandfather, remarking to the farmer that he “should ha’ been a darned fool to take the old gentleman at his word; for he never knowed a man hanker arter harnsome stock but what he bought it, fust or last.”

Now I also discovered that the regiment George enlisted in was one whose Colonel I knew well: so I wrote and asked about Sergeant Adams. My report was highly honorable to George, but had some bad news in it: he had been severely wounded in the right leg, and, through recovering, would be disabled from further service. A fortnight after I drove into Hanerford with Grandfather Hollis, and we stopped at the old bakery. It looked exquisitely neat in the shop, as well as prosperous externally, and Dely stood behind the counter with a lovely child in her arms. Grandfather brought about half a bushel of crackers and cookies, while I played with the baby. As he paid for them, he said in his kind old voice that nobody can hear without pleasure,—