It _is_ pretty, I
think, and _so_ comfortable! And where are you going this morning with
the mammoths?"
"Down to the ten-acre lot," replied the farmer. "The men are makin' hay
thar to-day. Jump into the riggin' and come along," he added. "Ye kin
hev a little ride, an' see the hay-makin'. Pooty sight 'tis, to my
thinkin'."
"May I?" cried Hilda, eagerly. "I am sure these fowls have had enough.
Go away now, you greedy creatures! There, you shall have all there is!"
and she emptied the bowl over the astonished dignitaries of the
barn-yard, laid it down on the settle in the porch, and jumped gayly
into the "rigging," as the great hay-cart was called.
"Haw, Bright! hoish, Star!" said the farmer, touching one and then the
other of the great black oxen lightly with his goad. The huge beasts
swayed from side to side, and finally succeeded in getting themselves
and the cart in motion, while the farmer walked leisurely beside them,
tapping and poking them occasionally, and talking to them in that mystic
language which only oxen and their drivers understand. Down the sweet
country lane they went, with the willows hanging over them, and the
daisies and buttercups and meadow-sweet running riot all over the banks.
Hilda stood up in the cart and pulled off twigs from the willows as she
passed under them, and made garlands, which the farmer obediently put
over the oxen's necks. She hummed little snatches of song, and chatted
gayly with her kind old host; for the world was very fair, and her heart
was full of summer and sunshine.
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