After supper, Laurie slipped his small hand inside Uncle Sam’s big one, and they started out together to see the farm, the big collie dog “Shep” running along beside them.

“I’ve never seen so many animals in all my life,” he exclaimed, as they came up to the great gate that shut in the barnyard, “except perhaps in the Zoo.”

“Shall we stop here for a moment?” said Uncle Sam, lifting Laurie up and seating him on the gate-post, where he could see all over the yard at once.

“Oh, how fine!” exclaimed Laurie, “I feel just like a little bird that perches on a tree, and looks down on the cows underneath, and isn’t a bit afraid of their horns!”

Uncle Sam and Laurie

Uncle Sam laughed, for he knew the cows would not hurt him, nevertheless he kept his arm around Laurie to be sure, for he was a little city boy, and city boys only see pictures of cows in books, and Uncle Sam thought Laurie might be a weeny bit afraid. Bossie, Bonnie Bee, Lilian and Daisy, the cows, were standing around waiting to be milked, switching their tails and moo-oo-ing now and then; some would wander over to the wide horse trough, over which the water spilled, and bend their heads until their mouths touched the water, when they would drink in great gulps, then turn away with dripping chins.

Just then there was the sound of hoofs, and old “Sue,” “Magic” and “Marvel” and the colt “Arbutus” raced up from the pasture, and into the barnyard.

Uncle Sam drew a handful of apples out of his capacious pockets, and the horses came whinneying and ate them out of his hand.

“I’m glad I’m up here,” laughed Laurie, but Uncle Sam latched the gate, and lifted him down, for there was ever so much more to be seen.

Over in the pig-sty the old mother sow and her family of pigs were pushing each other out of the way to see who could get the most supper, some of them being impolite enough to stand with their feet in the trough, but of course that is considered correct in pig society.

The little pigs were cunning, with their bright eyes and curly tails, and even the old sow was admirable, for she would grunt as though to say “Did you ever see so fine a family; I have taught them that the best things in this world must be hunted for, and to look out for themselves, yes! they have been brought up properly, I have a right to be proud.”

Laurie had never seen a real pump before, so they stopped and he had a drink of the cool well water. How refreshing it was! Next they peeped into the chicken house, deserted, except for a few old mother hens, sitting on their eggs, who, when they saw Laurie, set up such a fuss that he quickly came out again.

Chickens

As they came near an old brown hen sitting in the grass, Laurie laughed with delight when she got up, and a whole brood of downy yellow chicks ran from under her wing.

Laurie with the hen and chicks

Uncle Sam now took Laurie back to the barn to see the milking, and they threaded their way through the dim twilight of the stable, past the tired horses munching their oats, to the cow-shed, frightening an old hen off her nest, where she had laid her eggs away from prying eyes in a corner of the hay.

Laurie thought he had never smelt anything so delicious as the odor of the sweet clover grass that hung down between the boards of the flooring of the hay loft, and when a mouse would scurry away, he would laugh at its being afraid of him.

Outside in the gathering twilight, the pigeons were wheeling and circling overhead, and dipping to the ground for the corn that lay scattered among the pebbles.

High overhead, was the dove-cote on the wagon house. “Do the pigeons fly far away, Uncle Sam? and what are they always doing?” asked Laurie when he had watched them for some time. “They fly ever so far away, Laurie,” answered Uncle Sam, “but always come back again. Some pigeons you know, the carrier pigeons, carry messages, but I do not think this kind is used for that purpose.” Meantime Aunt Laura had come out to scatter corn to the chickens, who, seeing her approach, hurried to meet her on all sides, until she stood surrounded by the pretty feathered creatures. Laurie begged for a handful of corn to throw to them, but started back in dismay, when an old turkey-gobbler reached up and picked a grain out of his hand. “What a rude old bird,” he said, “but I wasn’t a bit afraid of him, he only surprised me,” he explained to Aunt Laura quickly, for fear she would think him timid. Just then the turkey, who was a pompous sort of creature, cocked his head on one side, and looked at Laurie for a moment as though he understood, then turned away.

“What a rude old bird,” said Laurie.

“What a rude old bird,” said Laurie.

“I’m afraid you have hurt his feelings,” said Aunt Laura, “you see he is not used to little boys calling him names”—“Well, I’ll not do it any more, I’m sure I didn’t know he minded,” replied Laurie, “but still,” he continued, “it’s not as if he really understood, he couldn’t unless he were a fairy—but turkeys, and cows and pigeons on farms are not fairies, are they, Aunt Laura?” “I can’t tell you that, Laurie,” said Aunt Laura, “for I’ve never seen any fairies—some animals are more sensible than others, and some like to be petted, and are fond of being with people—if that is what you mean.” “No, that is not what I mean altogether, it’s only part of what I mean,” he answered; “if the turkey-gobbler wasn’t a fairy, it ought not to make any difference to him, my calling him rude or not, for he couldn’t understand, but he looked at me in such a funny way, with his head on one side, that he must have known what I was saying.”

Laurie taking off his shoes and stockings