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I awoke and listened, trembling. There was nothing to be heard.

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'You must have been dreaming, Mabel,' I said. There's something in the

'No, no; I wasn't.

room.

It made a dreadful sound, which woke me, -like the hoot of an owl. There it is again!' A low, long mournful hoot sounded through the room.

'It is an owl!' I cried. 'Oh, Mabel, I'm so frightened! I'm going to jump on to your bed. I am afraid to put my feet down. It might peck at them, you know.'

A laugh, which we knew well enough, sounded outside the door. It was Syd! The wretch had been hooting through the key-hole. He cried out, in a comic voice,

'How's your poor feet?' And giving a parting hoot, ran softly down-stairs, just as Aunt Gommie opened her door, to see what was going on.

'Syd, are you in bed?' she called out, from the top of the stairs.

'All serene, Aunt Gommie!' he shouted back. 'What a monkey it is!' we heard her say, as she shut her bedroom door.

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What an owl, I should say!' said Mabel.

CHAPTER XI.

HAYMAKING.

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RS. BROWN, the owner of the farm, was a nice old body. We liked her very much. She was

always kind to us, and did not

seem to think us troublesome, which was a comfort, for I am sure we must have been, sometimes.

She let us come into her dairy and see how she made her butter and cheese, and she showed us how she scalded her 'ream,' as she called it, that is, the clotted cream, for which this part of the world is famous. I believe I should make a very good dairymaid; I know how to milk a cow, for Jenny let me try with Dimple, and I can make butter, for Mrs. Brown let me make a pat with

her one day. Mabel and I took lessons in these things, and we think we should like to set up a dairy together very much. Mabel says she doesn't care about the world and its gaieties, and that she would much rather make butter and cheese than play croquet and go to balls, and I am of the same mind at present, but I don't know whether it would last. I could not help reminding Mabel that dairymaids do not wear chignons, to which she replied,

'You are very personal, and I don't like you at all! Of course, if I gave up the world, I should give up my chignon with it! My dear, you don't know what I am capable of!'

'It would be a great sacrifice,' said a voice behind us. It was Aunt Gommie.

'Oh, oh! you have been hearing our nonsense!' cried Mabel. What a shame!' and she ran away

laughing.

Syd came in from the farm-yard full of excitement before tea.

They are going to cut the hay to-morrow,' he said. 6 They are getting out the scythes and hay-forks; and there are going to be eight mowers

in the great meadow at four o'clock in the morning. I hope it will be fine. Won't we have

fun?'

Yes; won't we?' said Bessie; and she, and Tita, and Minnie jumped about clapping their hands.

Tita said, 'I saw Mrs. Brown making such immonstryous pies after dinner!'

'They were for the men,' said Syd. 'And there's a great cask of cider come for them. I saw it rolled into the cellar.'

Oh, do let us get up very early!' begged Minnie.

'And have our breakfast over quickly, so that we may go to the hay-field before it gets very hot,' said Bessie.

'Won't we have fun tossing the hay about?' I said. There are such splendid forks for it, with iron prongs. I saw them in the barn.'

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'No, indeed!' said Aunt Gommie. You will have nothing of the kind. I am not going to have your eyes poked out, and your legs pierced through with iron prongs! You will be so good as to leave them to the haymakers.'

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'Then what shall we toss the hay with?' asked Minnie, in a doleful tone.

'Pull out your face a little longer, Minnie,' said Syd. It's a pity the fairy Abracadabra is not here, to take it and roll it up into a ball!'

We all laughed at this, and Minnie's face came back to the right shape again.

'I'll tell you what,' said Syd, 'I'll go into the little wood opposite, and cut you each a nice fork out of the nut-bushes. Mabel, are you too big to make hay?'

'I should rather think not!' she answered, scornily.

'There! don't be so proud! Look how her chignon is swelling!' said Syd.

'Will you be quiet!' cried Mabel.

You are

like those little midges, that are the torment of my life!'

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'Or a hornet,' suggested Bessie.

'Or an owl!' I put in.

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Yes!' said Mabel, laughing. Ah, Mr. Owl,

there is something owing to you!'

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It is owing to me,' returned Syd, calmly,

that you were not kept awake by the mice last

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