“I don’t believe there is any pleasanter place in the world!” said Hilda, warmly.  “I am sure I have never been so happy anywhere as I have here.”

Farmer Hartley looked up with a twinkle in his eye.  “Ye’ve changed yer views some, Huldy, hain’t ye, sence the fust day ye kem heer?  I didn’t never think, then, as I’d be givin’ you rides in the hay-riggin’, sech a fine young lady as you was.”

Hilda gave him an imploring glance, while the blood mounted to her temples.  “Please, Farmer Hartley,” she said in a low voice, “please try to forget that first day.  It isn’t my views that have changed,” she added, “it is I myself.  I don’t—­I really don’t think I am the same girl who came here a month ago.”

“No, my gal,” said the farmer, heartily, “I don’t think ye are.”  He walked along in silence for a few minutes, and then said, “’Tis curus how folks kin sometimes change ’emselves, one way or the other.  ’Tain’t so with critturs; ’t least so fur’s I’ve obsarved.  The way they’re born, that way they’ll stay.  Now look at them oxen!  When they was young steers, hardly more’n calves, I began to train them critturs.  An’ from the very fust go-off they tuk their cue an’ stuck to it.  Star, thar, would lay out, and shake his head, an’ pull for all he was wuth, as if there was nothin’ in the world to do but pull; and Bright, he’d wait till Star was drawin’ good an’ solid, an’ then he’d as much as say, ’Oh! you kin pull all that, kin ye?  Well, stick to it, my boy, an’ I’ll manage to trifle along with the rest o’ the load.’  Wo-hoish, Star! haw, Bright! git up, ye old humbug!  You’re six year old now, an’ you ain’t changed a mite in four years, though I’ve drove you stiddy, and tried to spare the other every time.”

The green lane broke off suddenly, and such a blaze of sunlight flashed upon them that Hilda involuntarily raised her hand to shield her eyes.  The great meadow lay open before them, an undulating plain of gold.  The haycocks looked dull and gray-green upon it; but where the men were tossing the hay with their long wooden rakes, it flashed pale-golden in the sunlight, and filled the air with flying gleams.  Also the air was filled with the sweetness of the hay, and every breath was a delight.  Hilda stood speechless with pleasure, and the old farmer watched her glowing face with kindly gratification.

“Pooty sightly, ain’t it?” he said.  And then, in a graver tone, and removing his battered straw hat, “I don’t never seem to see the glory of the Lord no plainer than in a hay-field, a day like this.  Yes, sir! if a man can’t be a Christian on a farm in summer, he can’t be it nowhere.  Amen!” and Farmer Hartley put on his hat and proceeded straightway to business.  “Now, Huldy,” he said, “here ye be!  I’m goin’ to load up this riggin’, an’ ye kin stay round here a spell, if ye like, an’ run home when ye like.  Ye kin find the way, I reckon?”

“Oh, yes!” said Hilda; “yes, indeed!  But I shall stay here for a while, and watch you.  And mayn’t I toss the hay too a little?”