thrushes were much happier out-of-doors than in, but he told us not to dig any more worms, but to let the mother find her own food. The cage looked very pretty hang

ing against the farm-house,

and several times during the day, when Bob and I went to look how the young thrushes were getting on, both the cock and hen birds were on the top of the cage for the cock had now come also, and he was singing beautifully.

Scarsbrook Farm-house is so pretty. It looks much prettier to me, since I have been to London, than it did

before. It is two stories high, and goes a long way round. The windows are all gabled, and so is the roof; and the dining-room, drawing-room, breakfast-parlour, and three best bedrooms have large bow-windows. From the dining-room, drawing-room, breakfast-parlour, and play-room, you step out on to the lawn, and in some parts the house is covered with ivy. The dairies are to the right of the farm-house, and you go through a gate to the stables, cow-sheds, piggery, fowl-house, and all the outhouses. You have to cross a field before you come to the sheep-folds.

Oh, it is such a beautiful place! Bob and I often say that we are very glad, and very thankful, that we live at Scarsbrook!

CHAPTER XIV.

OUR RIDE.

SINCE we hung the cage up against the wall, two of the little birds have died; the other two lived, and got on capitally. The cage still hangs up against the farmhouse, but the little birds have flown away, because now they are big birds; but they do not forget their old home, and often come back for seed, and they know Bob, Marmaduke, and me quite well—at least, they knew Bob when he was at home. I hope they have not forgotten him now. If we go to the window and call them, they often come flying to us for food. And the old mother, also, knows us. The young ones still let us feed them out of our hands, and when it rains or the birds are hungry, we see them fly into the cage, where we put all kinds of fruit and seed for them. Other birds also go there sometimes, for food.

It is June now, and three of our cows have calved this month. The little calves look so pretty in the fields; I never seem to tire of watching them. But the one thing in this world that gives me more pleasure than anything else, is a canter on Bruce. He is such a surefooted little pony, and yet he goes at a good rate.

G

Father said the other morning that, as it was an unusually clear day, he would take Marmaduke and me for a ride to the top of one of our highest hills, to show us a fine view that we had never seen before. Bob was at school, so he could not go.

We party of seven-three people, three horses, and a dog, started away soon after breakfast; and, if the day had been made on purpose for us, the weather could not have been more lovely. The first part of the ride was rather hot, but as we wound round and round up the mountain-paths, the air grew cooler and cooler.

Bruce has one fault, just one-and I suppose we cannot expect a horse to be perfect any more than a child-he is not at all a good walker; so when Topsy and Wallace (father's mare and Duke's pony) walk fast, Bruce has sometimes to trot to keep up with them, which is not at all a comfortable gait; but he is now learning to amble, and he is the only pony we have who can do this. In some parts our path was so narrow that we could not ride two abreast. Father went first, to show the way, then came Duke, and I followed; sometimes Nep was on ahead, sometimes behind, and sometimes at our sides. It took us three hours to reach the summit of the hill, but when we were once there, I cannot tell you what the view was like, for I can never describe a lovely view properly-it seems too beautiful to speak about.

We saw a valley-the dear village of Scarsbrook-— beneath us; hills varying in shape and height all around; a river flowing through the valley; a little town; several towns and valleys in the distance; a number of trees,

some scattered here and there, and others grouped together, forming a dense forest; and the sky was so blue, and the sun so golden as it shone through the leaves of the high mountain trees, making the water of the river sparkle below. There was not the slightest fog to spoil our view; and when we had looked for a long time, we could even distinguish the farm-house, and the steeple of Scarsbrook Church.

We were all hungry now. Duke, I, and Nep could speak for ourselves; and as the horses had had their breakfast three hours before we had had ours, I thought they must be hungry too. We dismounted, and, as Duke expressed it (of course I did not, for I am a lady, and Aunt Anne used to say that no lady ever makes use of schoolboy expressions), we "tucked into" sandwiches, biscuits, fruit, and lemonade, that father had taken for us in his saddle-bag, and we allowed our horses to graze about.

It was dinner-time before we started to go home again, but we were not expected home to dinner that day. How I enjoyed eating sandwiches and drinking lemonade on the hill-top, with large leaves for our plates, and half the cover of father's little flask for a tumbler! How much more enjoyable it was to sitting down to dinner at the table at home, and having to be on one's best behaviour! I don't know how it is, but I don't like rules, or best behaviours, or anything of that sort. I should so like to live in the woods, and let manners take their chance.

Winny wouldn't. Winny likes to be good, and do what she's told. We are not at all alike.

There were two ways by which we could return home-back the same path we had come, or round, and down, some other hills in the opposite direction, when we should have to cross the river at a spot where there was no bridge. Of course Duke and I chose the latter way, and father said we could go by it. He had not ridden over those hills for some years himself, and would like to see them again.

We rode on for some distance, when father suddenly pulled up his horse. Bruce stopped also, for he always follows suit, and Wallace did the same.

Father said he was afraid, even now, that we must turn back and go by the other path, as he could see a breakaway ahead on a sand-hill we had to cross.

He looked at his watch. We had ridden for two hours on our homeward journey, and were two-thirds of the way home. If we turned back, instead of one, we should have a five hours' ride.

"Don't you think the path is wide enough for the horses to cross, father?" I asked.

"As we now see it, yes; but I am afraid it is crumbling away. It used to be three times as wide as it is now. Should it give as we ride over, we should be hurled down the sand-rock into the valley below. I think we had better turn."

Both Duke and I wished to go on. We had set our hearts upon riding through the river we had nearly reached.

Dear father saw that we did not wish to turn back, and, always anxious to please us, especially when he takes us out for a treat, he said, "I will ride on a little way