"
"Humph!" said Bubble, "nice kind o folks they must ha' been. Well, I
must go, Miss Hildy," he added, reluctantly. "I've had a splendid time,
an' I'm _real_ obleeged to ye. I sh'll try to larn that story by heart,
'bout the bold Buckle-oh. I want to tell it to Pink! _She_'d like
it--oh, my! wouldn't she like it, jest like--I mean jest like spellin'!
Good by, Miss Hildy!" And Bubble ran off to bring home the cows, his
little heart swelling high with scorn of kings and queens, and with a
fervor of devotion to Walter Scott, first lord of Buccleugh.
CHAPTER VII.
PINK CHIRK.
One lovely morning Hildegarde stood at the back door, feeding the fowls.
She wore her brown gingham frock with the yellow daisies on it, and the
daisy-wreathed hat, and in her hands she held a great yellow bowl full
of yellow corn. So bright a picture she made that Farmer Hartley,
driving the oxen afield, stopped for pure pleasure to look at her.
Around her the ducks and hens were fighting and squabbling, quacking,
clucking, and gobbling, and she flung the corn in golden showers on
their heads and backs, making them nearly frantic with greedy anxiety.
[Illustration: "SHE FLUNG THE CORN IN GOLDEN SHOWERS ON THEIR HEADS."]
"Wal, Huldy," said the farmer, leaning against Bright's massive side,
"you look pooty slick in that gown, I must say. I reckon thar ain't no
sech gown as _that_ on Fifth Avenoo, hey?"
"Indeed, I don't believe there is, Farmer Hartley," replied Hilda,
laughing merrily; "at least I never saw one like it.
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