When Mr. Ladd saw the little white head peep out, he put his head back and laughed.

“I pity the rats in your barn now, Mrs. Alder,” he shouted.

Mrs. Alder frowned at first, but when she looked at Clematis, and saw her anxious face, she smiled.

“What on earth made you bring that cat way up here?” she asked.

“She’s my own cat. I was afraid to leave her at the Home all alone. Would you like to leave your cat alone, where people might throw it away while you were gone?”

Just then a tall man with a gray beard walked up.

“Never mind, Mary,” he said. “We have plenty of milk in the dairy, and plenty of rats in the barn.”

By this time Clematis had Deborah safe in her arms, and Mr. Alder led the way to the house, while Mr. Ladd drove off, laughing as he went.

“Well, you can take the cat down to the barn. I won’t have it in the house,” said Mrs. Alder.

“All right, we’ll find a place for her,” said Mr. Alder. He took Clematis by the hand, and they went down to the barn.

A gray horse poked his head from a box stall to look at the little visitor, and a little red hen called her chickens, and hastened away, clucking, as if she were very angry.

Clematis turned to look at her.

“Did you ever have any chickens?” asked Mr. Alder.

“Oh, no, I never saw any.” Clematis could not take her eyes from the little chicks, as they ran after their anxious mother.

“We have lots of things to show you here. Let’s put your cat up in the loft now.”

They went up a set of stairs, and there was a loft, full of sweet hay.

“There now, Mrs. Tabby, you will find a good bed, and good hunting here.”

“Her name isn’t Tabby, it’s Deborah,” said Clematis, as she put her down.

“Oh, that’s quite a name. It suits her very well.” Mr. Alder led the way down again.

At the other end of the barn, a red and white calf came up to meet them.

It put out its wet nose to smell the little visitor, and made her start back.

“He wants to say ‘how do’. He loves little girls,” said Mr. Alder.

Clematis stuck one hand out timidly, and pulled it back again, when the calf tried to lick it with his rough tongue.

“He wants just a little taste,” laughed Mr. Alder. “Come on now. Here is something else.”

At the end of the barn, Clematis could hear strange noises. There, in the yard, were some smooth, white animals running about.

When Clematis came near the fence, they ran and put their fore feet up, and stuck their noses out.

“Uff, uff,” they said. Then they squealed.

“Oh, I know! Those are pigs!” cried Clematis, clapping her hands.

Eight clean, white pigs were grunting and squealing for their supper.

“Squeal away, piggies,” said Mr. Alder. “Supper will be along soon.”

In a moment, he brought from the dairy a bright milk pail. Then they went down to the gate, and he called:

“Come boss, come boss. Come Betty.”

A sleek, plump cow came over the hill, and hurried down to the gate. It was just the color of a mouse.

“Dear old Betty. Steady now.” Betty pushed through, and walked fast to the barn, where she began to whisper to her calf, and lap it with her great rough tongue.

As Clematis came up, Betty put her head down, and shook her horns.

“Behave, Betty. You ought to be ashamed,” said Mr. Alder. “You see, she won’t let any strangers near her calf.”

Then he took some grain and put it in Betty’s box, while he tied her head, and sat down on the stool beside her.

Clematis had never seen a cow milked before, and stood watching the white streams which filled the foaming pail, as if Mr. Alder were a fairy. It seemed like magic.

When the pail was full, Mr. Alder poured some into a shiny can, and took the rest to the dairy.

There he poured it into a red machine, with a big bowl. He turned the handle, and soon two streams came out.

“What is that for?” Clematis thought this might be some new magic. Indeed it was magic, almost.

“This is the separator,” answered Mr. Alder. “I pour the milk in at the top, and turn the handle. Then the cream comes out of one spout, and the skimmed milk from the other.”

“Oh, I see,” said Clematis, though it really was all like magic to her.

“Now I guess we are through. Let’s go up and see what they have for supper.”

Mr. Alder took the empty pail, and led her back to the house, where supper was ready and waiting.

The smell of hot biscuit made Clematis feel very hungry, and she was glad that supper was all ready.

With the biscuit, was golden butter, and apple sauce.

“Do you like warm milk right from the cow?” asked Mrs. Alder.

“Yes’m,” replied Clematis, with a nod.

So Mrs. Alder put a little pitcher, with a glass, not much bigger than a thimble, beside her plate.

She could pour it out herself, as often as she emptied her glass.

“Better leave room for some fresh blueberry pie, and a piece of cheese,” said Mr. Alder.

The little red hen