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there was, that there really was no
accommodation for her. The plan of sleeping all
huddled together as they were at first would
not do. The girl herself could not endure it;
and her parents felt that she must be got out
at any sacrifice. They had inquired diligently
till they found a place for her in a farm-house
where the good wife promised protection, and
care, and kindness; and fulfilled her promise
to the best of her power.

"I hope thay do well by you here, Becky,"
asked Allan, when the surprise caused by
his driving up with a dash had subsided,
and everybody had retired, to leave Becky
with her brothers for the few minutes they
could stay. "I hope they are kind to you
here."

"O, yes,—very kind. And I am sure you
ought to say so to father and mother."

Becky had jumped into the cart, and had
her arms round Moss, and her head on his
shoulder. Raising her head, and with her eyes
filling as she spoke, she inquired anxiously
how the new cottages went on, and when
father and mother were to have a home of
their own again. She owned, but did not
wish her father and mother to hear of it, that
she did not like being among such rough
people as the farm servants. She did not like
some of the behaviour that she saw; and,
still less, such talk as she was obliged to overhear.
When would a cottage be ready for
them?

"Why, the new cottages would soon be
getting on now," Allan said: but he didn't
know; nobody fancied the look of them. He
saw them just after the foundations were laid;
and the enclosed parts were like a clay-puddle.
He did not see how they were ever to be
improved; for the curse of wet seemed to be
on them, as upon everything about the
Station. Fleming's cottage was the best he had
seen, after all, if only it was twice as large.
If anything could be done to make the new
cottages what cottages should be, it would be
done: for every body agreed that the railway
gentlemen desired to do the best for their
people, and to set an example in that respect:
but it was beyond anybody's power to make
wet clay as healthy as warm gravel. Unless
they could go to work first to dry the soil, it
seemed a hopeless sort of affair.

"But, I say, Becky," pursued Allan, "you
know about my gardenthat father gave me
a garden of my own."

Becky's head was turned quite away; and
she did not look round, when she replied,

"Yes; I remember. How does your garden
get on?"

There was something in her voice which
made her brother lean over and look into her
face; and, as he expected, tears were running
down her cheeks.

"There now!" said he, whipping the back
of the cart with his stick; "something must
be done, if you can't get on here."

"O! I can get on. Be sure you don't tell
mother that I can't get on, or anything about
it."

"You look healthy, to be sure."

''To be sure I am. Don't say any more
about it. Tell me about your garden."

"Well: I am trying what I can make of it,
after I have done working with father. But
it takes a long time to bring it round."

"What! is the wet there, too?"

"Lord, yes! The wet was beyond everything
at first. I could not leave the spade in
the ground ten minutes, if father called me,
but the water was standing in the hole when
I went back again. It is not so bad now,
since I made a drain to join upon father's
principal one; and father gave me some sand,
and plenty of manure: but it seems to us that
manure does little good. It won't sink in
when the ground is so wet."

"Well, there will be the summer next, and
that will dry up your garden."

"Yes. People say the smells are dreadful
in hot weather, though. But we seem to get
used to that. I thought it sickly work, just
after we came, going down to get osiers, and
digging near the big ditch that is our plague
now: but somehow, it does not strike me
now as it did then, though Fleming says it is
getting worse every warm day. But come
I must be off. What will you help yourself
to? And don't forget your parcel."

Becky's great anxiety was to know when
her brothers would come again. O! very
often, she was assuredoftener and oftener
as the vegetables came forward: whenever
there were either too many or too few to send
to the town by rail.

After Becky had jumped down, the farmer
and one of the men were seen to be
contemplating the pony.

"What have you been giving your pony
lately?" asked the farmer of Allan. "I ask
as a friend, having some experience of this
part of the country. Have you been letting
him graze?"

"Yes, in the bit of meadow that we have
leave for. There is a good deal of grass there,
now. He has been grazing there these three
weeks."

"On the meadow where the osier beds are?
Ay! I knew it, by the look of him. Tell
your father that if he does not take care, his
pony will have the staggers in no time. An
acquaintance of mine grazed some cattle there
once; and in a week or two, they were all
feverish, so that the butcher refused them on
any terms; and I have seen more than one
horse in the staggers, after grazing in marshes
of that sort."

"There is fine thick grass there, and plenty
of it," said Allan, who did not like that
anybody but themselves should criticise their
new place and plans.

"Ay, ay; I know," replied the farmer.
"But if you try to make hay of that grass,
you'll be surprised to find how long it takes
to make, and how like wool it comes out at

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