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yours have,” answered
     Mrs. Moss, giving the smooth head a motherly stroke as she went by.
    “Fat ain’t allowed in our profession, ma’am. The thinner the better for tightropes and tumblin’; likewise bareback ridin’
     and spry jugglin’. Muscle’s the thing, and there you are.”
    Ben stretched out a wiry little arm with a clenched fist at the end of it, as if he were a young Hercules, ready to play ball
     with the stove if she gave him leave. Glad to see him in such good spirits, she pointed to the well outside, saying pleasantly—
    “Well, then, just try your muscle by bringing in some fresh water.”
    Ben caught up a pail and ran off, ready to be useful; but, while he waited for the bucket to fill down among the mossy stones,
     he looked about him, well pleased with all he saw — the small brown house with a pretty curl of smokerising from its chimney, the little sisters sitting in the sunshine, green hills and newly-planted fields far and near, a
     brook dancing through the orchard, birds singing in the elm avenue, and all the world as fresh and lovely as early summer
     could make it.
    “Don’t you think it’s pretty nice here?” asked Bab, as his eye came back to them after a long look, which seemed to take in
     everything, brightening as it roved.
    “Just the nicest place that ever was. Only needs a horse round somewhere to be complete,” answered Ben, as the long well-sweep
     came up with a dripping bucket at one end, an old grindstone at the other.
    “The Judge has three, but he’s so fussy about them he won’t even let us pull a few hairs out of old Major’s tail to make rings
     of,” said Betty, shutting her arithmetic with an injured expression.
    “Mike lets
me
ride the white one to water when the Judge isn’t round. It’s such fun to go jouncing down the lane and back. I do love horses!”
     cried Bab, bobbing up and down on the blue bench to imitate the motion of white Jenny.
    “I guess you are a plucky sort of a girl,” and Ben gave her an approving look as he went by, taking care to slop a little
     water on Mrs. Puss, who stood curling her whiskers and humping up her back at Sancho.
    “Come to breakfast!” called Mrs. Moss; and for about twenty minutes little was said, as mush and milk vanished in a way that
     would have astonished even Jack the Giant-killer with his leather bag.
    “Now, girls, fly round and get your chores done up; Ben, you go chop me some kindlings; and I’ll make things tidy. Then we
     can all start off at once,” said Mrs. Moss, as thelast mouthful vanished, and Sancho licked his lips over the savory scraps that fell to his share.
    Ben fell to chopping so vigorously that chips flew wildly all about the shed; Bab rattled the cups into her dishpan with dangerous
     haste, and Betty raised a cloud of dust “sweeping up”; while mother seemed to be everywhere at once. Even Sanch, feeling that
     his fate was at stake, endeavored to help in his own somewhat erratic way — now frisking about Ben at the risk of getting
     his tail chopped off, then trotting away to poke his inquisitive nose into every closet and room whither he followed Mrs.
     Moss in her “flying round” evolutions; next dragging off the mat so Betty could brush the doorsteps, or inspecting Bab’s dish-washing
     by standing on his hind legs to survey the table with a critical air. When they drove him out he was not the least offended,
     but gaily barked Puss up a tree, chased all the hens over the fence, and carefully interred an old shoe in the garden, where
     the remains of the mutton bone were already buried.
    By the time the others were ready, he had worked off his superfluous spirits, and trotted behind the party like a well-behaved
     dog accustomed to go out walking with ladies. At the crossroads they separated, the little girls running on to school, while
     Mrs. Moss and Ben went up to the Squire’s big house on the hill.
    “Don’t you be scared, child. I’ll make it all right