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New England, Tommy took Nat to a certain old willow–tree that overhung a noisy little brook. From the fence it was an easy scramble into a wide niche between the three big branches, which had been cut off to send out from year to year a crowd of slender twigs, till a green canopy rustled overhead. Here little seats had been fixed, and a hollow place a closet made big enough to hold a book or two, a dismantled boat, and several half–finished whistles.
    "This is Demi's and my private place; we made it, and nobody can come up unless we let 'em, except Daisy, we don't mind her," said Tommy, as Nat looked with delight from the babbling brown water below to the green arch above, where bees were making a musical murmur as they feasted on the long yellow blossoms that filled the air with sweetness.
    "Oh, it's just beautiful!" cried Nat. "I do hope you'll let me up sometimes. I never saw such a nice place in all my life. I'd like to be a bird, and live here always."
    "It is pretty nice. You can come if Demi don't mind, and I guess he won't, because he said last night that he liked you."
    "Did he?" and Nat smiled with pleasure, for Demi's regard seemed to be valued by all the boys, partly because he was Father Bhaer's nephew, and partly because he was such a sober, conscientious little fellow.
    "Yes; Demi likes quiet chaps, and I guess he and you will get on if you care about reading as he does."
    Poor Nat's flush of pleasure deepened to a painful scarlet at those last words, and he stammered out,
    "I can't read very well; I never had any time; I was always fiddling round, you know."
    "I don't love it myself, but I can do it well enough when I want to," said Tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words, "A boy twelve years old and can't read!"
    "I can read music, anyway," added Nat, rather ruffled at having to confess his ignorance.
    "I can't;" and Tommy spoke in a respectful tone, which emboldened Nat to say firmly,
    "I mean to study real hard and learn every thing I can, for I never had a chance before. Does Mr. Bhaer give hard lessons?"
    "No; he isn't a bit cross; he sort of explains and gives you a boost over the hard places. Some folks don't; my other master didn't. If we missed a word, didn't we get raps on the head!" and Tommy rubbed his own pate as if it tingled yet with the liberal supply of raps, the memory of which was the only thing he brought away after a year with his "other master."
    "I think I could read this," said Nat, who had been examining the books.
    "Read a bit, then; I'll help you," resumed Tommy, with a patronizing air.
    So Nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may friendly "boosts" from Tommy, who told him he would soon "go it" as well as anybody. Then they sat and talked boy–fashion about all sorts of things, among others, gardening; for Nat, looking down from his perch, asked what was planted in the many little patches lying below them on the other side of the brook.
    "These are our farms," said Tommy. "We each have our own patch, and raise what we like in it, only have to choose different things, and can't change till the crop is in, and we must keep it in order all summer."
    "What are you going to raise this year?"
    "Wal, I cattleated to hev beans, as they are about the easiest crop a–goin'."
    Nat could not help laughing, for Tommy had pushed back his hat, put his hands in his pockets, and drawled out his words in unconscious imitation of Silas, the man who managed the place for Mr. Bhaer.
    "Come, you needn't laugh; beans are ever so much easier than corn or potatoes. I tried melons last year, but the bugs were a bother, and the old things wouldn't get ripe before the frost, so I didn't have but one good water and two little "mush mellions,"" said Tommy, relapsing into a "Silasism" with the last word.
    "Corn looks pretty growing," said Nat, politely, to atone for his laugh.
    "Yes, but you have to hoe it over and over again. Now, six weeks' beans only have to be done