“Here lies the germ of a resolve. 
  July 17th, 18—­”

He walked slowly along the fragrant wood-path, looking thoughtfully at the shadows as they played hide and seek upon the moss, while through the trees he caught glimpses of the sparkling river which sang as it rolled along.

When he reached the border of the woodland he stood still and his eyes swept over the landscape.  Hollywood was the finest stock farm in the country.  After his father’s death he had come, a little lad, to live with Mr. Hawthorne, and every year which had elapsed since then made it grow more dear.  He loved its rolling meadows, its breezy pastures and its fragrant orchards.  Its beautifully kept grounds and outbuildings appealed to his innate sense of the fitness of things, while its air of abundant comfort made it difficult to realize that the world was full of hunger and woe.  He loved the green road where the wild roses blushed and the honeysuckle drooped its fragrant petals, but most of all he loved the graceful horses and sleek cows which just now were grazing in the fields on either side; and the shy creatures, with the subtle instinct by which all animals test the quality of human friendship, took him into their confidence and came gladly at his call and did his bidding.

When he reached the end of the road he stopped again, and, leaning against the fence adjoining the broad gate which led to the house, gave a low whistle.  A thoroughbred Jersey, feeding some distance away, lifted her head and listened.  Again he whistled, and with soft, slow tread the cow came towards him and rubbed her nose against his arm.  He took her head between his hands, her clover-laden breath fanning his cheeks, and looked at the dark muzzle and the large eyes, almost human in their tenderness.

“Well, Primrose, old lady, you’re as dainty as your namesake, and as sweet.  Ah, Sylph, you beauty!” he continued, as a calf like a young fawn approached the gate, “you can’t rest away from your mammy, can you?  Primrose, have you any aspirations, or are you content simply to eat and drink?  You have a good time of it now, but what if you were kicked and cuffed and starved?  You are sensitive, for I saw you shrink and shiver when Bill Wright,—­the scoundrel!—­dared to strike you.  He’ll never do it again, Prim!  Have you the taste of an epicure for the juicy grass blades and the clover when it is young,—­do you love to hear the birds sing and the brook murmur, and do you enjoy living under the trees and watching the clouds chase the sunbeams as you chew your cud?  Do you wonder why the cold winter comes and you have to be shut up in a stall with a different kind of fodder?  Do you ever wonder who gave you life and what you are meant to do with it?  How I wish you could talk, old lady!”

He vaulted over the gate, and whistling to a fine collie who came bounding to meet him, walked slowly on towards the stables.

“Hulloa, John!” and a boy about two years his junior threw himself off a horse reeking with foam.  “Rub Sultan down a bit like a good fellow.  There’ll be the worst kind of a row if the governor sees him in this pickle.”