Breakfast being over, the children were sent out to play, with orders to keep out of mischief, and preparations for the morning's work began.
Mrs. Clark prided herself upon her baking, especially her light bread, pies and puddings. She also took pride in her butter and her household arrangements. No sooner were the breakfast things washed up, than she lifted down her great cooking board and began operations. She put on a large white apron, and turned up her sleeves. Then with a heavy bunch of keys in hand, and Jenny at her heels, she visited larder, storeroom, and pantry. She dug into the flour-bin, and, after filling a large tin, she sent Jenny back with it to the kitchen. Then a beautiful pat of yellow butter followed, and after it apples, salt pork, herbs, potatoes, onions, fresh milk, and eggs. Mrs. Clark then proceeded to heat the oven, and call for saucepans and goblets, and Jenny had enough to do, to run here and there and everywhere.
Once, in her eagerness to hurry, she fell flat over the cat, and bruised her knees and her elbow on the brick floor of the kitchen.
"Jenny, you careless thing, what have you broken now? You are always breaking something."
"I've not broken anything, but just bruised my arms and legs."
"That's all right," exclaimed her mistress, in a relieved tone (thinking, I presume, of her dishes). "Take care you never do worse. But there is no time to waste grumbling over your own carelessness. Go to the spring, and fetch me a pail of water."
Jenny opened the kitchen door, and limped, pail in hand, across the yard, which was enclosed by railings. Here stood a hen-coop, within which was a large motherly hen, whose eight downy chicks were busy picking up odd grains and crumbs. Here also stood Bouncer's kennel, and Bouncer himself attached to it by a strong chain.
Jenny opened a gate on the other side of the yard, and after walking a few steps, found herself among the barns, cowsheds, pigsties, and stables. Passing between the large barn and the cowshed, she came on the stacks and hay ricks, which stood in the east meadow.
The east meadow rose up like a pretty hill, and here the cows were feeding. Beyond it plenty of other fields lay. Some were full of corn, others planted with vegetables, and this beautiful summer morning the scenery looked very pretty, for the fields were well studded with trees, and the hedges were loaded with leaves and flowers. Butterflies and bees skimmed about in the sunshine; the cows stood lazily brushing off the flies with their tails, and hens strutted round the stacks. Everything looked bright and happy.
Jenny gave a long sigh as she stood gazing round. She was only a child, and was weary of the scoldings she received indoors, and wished very much she could get a quiet game, or rather a little leisure, for she was not very merry, and rarely gave way to childish feelings. After a few minutes, Jenny walked to the side of the meadow, where a stream of water poured from the end of a pipe or trough. She filled the bucket and was turning homewards, when the sound of voices reached her ears, and through a little gap in the hedge she saw Jack and Robin alone.
Jenny was very fond of listening, and suspecting that Jack might be up to mischief, she put down her bucket, and creeping under a bush heard him say,
"Now, young one, I'll make you pay for your behavior to me this morning."
Robin, not understanding the meaning, answered,
"I can't pay for anything. I've got no money, but a little bit that Miss Marian gave me, and I'm going to buy Mother a new gown with it. What do you look so cross for? That isn't a nice face for a boy to wear."
"Never you mind. Would you like to climb a tree? Because I'll push you up, if you put your feet in these holes in the trunk; then you can sit on the branches, and see a great distance."
Of course Robin was delighted with the prospect, and scrambled up the tree eagerly, while Jack pushed him behind.
"Now, catch hold of that branch, and you will be safe."
Robin struggled and writhed, and at last succeeded in righting himself; then Jack stepped down and asked him how he liked it.
"Fine," said Robin, "only it shakes rather."
This idea delighted Jack; he seized the end of the branch, which was just within his reach, and shook it.
"Don't! I'll fall," cried the child.
"A fall would do you good, and teach you to behave yourself."
Robin began to cry.
"If you cry out, these cows will come after you."
Frightened and trembling the boy sobbed out, "Take me down, Jack."
At this moment Jenny jumped up, and came from behind the hedge. She was a kind-hearted girl, though blunt in her ways.
"Master Jack, aren't you ashamed to torment a wee boy so? You know you would not like to be treated so yourself; lift him down."
Jack turned upon Jenny in a fury. He told her to go about her business, or he'd tell his mother she had been idling, and in no gentle words, called her a busybody and a listener.
Jenny waited, but Jack would not relent, nor lift down nor help the child. He would not permit her to try either, and fearing the scolding she would receive for being late with the water, she slowly lifted her bucket and turned towards the house. Soon she quickened her steps, and meeting Susan in the yard, told her story. Jenny knew that she might meet with a cuff or a kick from Jack, but she felt too sorry for little Robin to hesitate.
Susan started away for the east meadow, and Jenny went to her work. Susan walked carefully, keeping the hedge between her and the boys.
Robin was still on the branch, and Jack was lying on the grass, a little way off, teasing him.
Suddenly Susan broke upon them with a "Shame on you, Jack," and held out her arms to take Robin down.
The little fellow, shaking in every limb, could hardly hold on to the tree. No sooner was he in Susan's arms than he cried hard and clung to her neck. She turned from Jack with a pitying glance saying,
"Jack, what will become of you, if you go on in such hard-hearted ways?" and left the field with Robin.
"I thought that cow would torse me if I cried." said Robin. "Jack is cruel; I can't stand him."
"Hush, hush, that is wrong," answered Susan, "you must keep out of his way, and not anger him."
"I'll never say another word to him, nor ever play with him again; he's bad."
"When you have got over your angry feelings you will think differently, Robin. Poor little man, you did get a fright, and it was unkind of Jack, but you must forgive and forget. Do you know that we all have naughty hearts, and have all sinned against God, but He is full of love and mercy, and willing to forgive us if we turn to Him?"
"Have I a naughty heart?" asked Robin.
"Yes; my Bible tells me that all of us, old and young, have naughty hearts, and are full of sinful thoughts and ways, but the Lord Jesus, the One your mother wished you to know and to have for your Friend, died to put away sin, and all who trust in Him get their sins forgiven. Without this, no one can get to the beautiful land your mother is going to."
"Oh," said Robin, with a great breath, "I wish mine were."
"The Lord Jesus is willing," she answered. "Will He forgive Jack?"
"If he is sorry for his sin, and comes to Jesus."
"I should not like him to go to that land," said Robin, pouting. "I believe he would be unkind there!"
"No, no, he couldn't. No unkindness can ever be there, nor anything that is sinful."
"Oh," answered Robin again.
They had now reached the farm, and Susan gave the little boy over to his sister's care, for she and May were playing in the great empty barn, and here the children forgot their sorrows in a good game of hide-and-seek till called for dinner.
During this meal Jack was very quiet; he was not sure whether Susan had told his father or even his mother of his unkindness to Robin, and though his mother generally took his part before others, she often gave him a sound scolding, or box on the ears, if she caught him alone after a fault.
Mr. Clark went over the next day to see his sister and found she had passed peacefully away that morning. Her kind friends had cared for her to the last, and anxiously questioned the farmer about the children. Marian promised to drive over in a week or two, and see them. Mr. Clark waited to make arrangements about the funeral and the furniture, and then drove home. He asked Susan to tell the children as he could not bear to do it, so that evening the little ones learned they were motherless, and though they shed tears and sobbed for a long time that night, Susan's kindness at last soothed them and they fell quietly asleep.