After a lovely ride of twenty miles the carriage stopped at a large yellow farm-house in the midst of trees and flowers. Hop-clover hoped this was Mr. Littlefield’s home; for it looked like just the place where she would wish to go visiting.

They drove round to a side-door. A girl was seated in the entry with her lap full of silver, which she was polishing with all the strength of her big, strong arm.

“How does thee do, Dorothy? Where’s my wife? I’ve brought her some company,” said the Quaker, smiling as he handed out the three children.

The girl rose, slipped off her apron, and rolled the silver into it in a heap on the floor. There were six visitors in the house already, who had come since Mr. Littlefield went away; but Dorothy was not like Eliza Potter, she did not know how to be cross. She asked Hop-clover if her foot was “asleep;” but, when she found the little girl was lame, she seemed very sorry. Then she led the children into the parlor to her mistress; while Mr. Littlefield drove into the stable with his man John, to put up the carriage.

Mrs. Littlefield was a lovely little lady, in a drab silk dress and fine white cap, with a white kerchief crossed upon her bosom. She was seated with her guests, four Quaker ladies, who also wore white caps and kerchiefs. She rose when the children entered, and said with a kind smile that she was very glad they had come. But I am sure she wondered where her husband had picked them up; for she had never seen one of them before.

Hop-clover was quite alarmed by the row of Quakers, but she did nothing worse than to put her finger in her mouth; while Posy blushed crimson, and Pollio bowed five times,—once for each lady,—not forgetting to twitch his front-hair. He had never seen women dressed so strangely before; but he wished them to understand that he thought none the worse of them for it.

When Mr. Littlefield came in and said the twins were Judge Pitcher’s children, his wife kissed them again, and said she had always wanted to see them.

“And thee wants to see this one just as much, when I tell thee who she is,” said her husband, leading up Hop-clover. “This is Lucinda Fearing’s child.”

“What? Thee doesn’t mean our Lucinda,—the one that came to us when our little grandchild Samuel was born, and lived here five years?” said Mrs. Littlefield, taking Hop-clover in her arms, and hugging her right against the starched kerchief. “Bless thy little heart! Why, thee looks like thy mother!”

“I knew thee would be glad to see her, Liddy,” said Mr. Littlefield, smiling.

The Quaker ladies all looked on with the kindest interest, and said they remembered “that good Lucinda.”

“She made my caps for me,” said Mrs. Mott.

“She was very steady about going to meeting,” said Mrs. Swan.

“Didn’t she marry a man by the name of Outhouse?” asked Mrs. Crane.

Hop-clover pressed her cheek against the soft kerchief, and felt so happy that she couldn’t help crying. It was beautiful to see people who had known and loved her own dear mother.

“This child looks very pale,” said Mr. Littlefield; “but I thought it might do her good to play with the calves and chickens awhile. What does thee think, Liddy?”

The twins looked on, and listened to all this with surprise. Hop-clover was almost a little beggar-child; yet the people in this house seemed to care more about her than they did about Judge Pitcher’s children. Posy was glad of it; but Pollio didn’t quite like it, he was used to a great deal of attention. Supper was now ready, however,—the very nicest supper; and, Mr. Swan and Mr. Crane coming in, no more was said about “that good Lucinda.”

Next morning the children made a telegraph in the barn with the clothes-line, and sent printed messages back and forth, making a clicking noise with two sticks while they were going. Hop-clover did not print, like the others, but wrote remarkably well for a child of her age. This was her message: “Click, Click. Dorrythe is coming out here.”

And, before the message had gone “across the wires,” Dorothy really did appear, with a bowl of corn-meal dough; and the children clustered around to see her feed the late chickens. It was a pretty sight, especially to Hop-clover.

“You’re having a good time, I guess,” said Dorothy, smiling down upon the lame girl kindly.

“Oh, I never was so happy! I never saw such cunning chickens! But don’t you wish they’d been born sooner? I’m afraid they won’t grow up before the snow comes.”

“No, they won’t, unless we take good care of them. But this is a famous place for taking care of every thing,—chickens and folks too,” added Dorothy, smiling again.

“Why don’t you say thee and thou?” asked Pollio, who had been watching the girl’s speech.

“Because I’m not a Quaker.”

“Don’t you like the Quakers?”

“Oh, yes! I love them dearly. I’ve lived with Mrs. Littlefield ever since I was twelve years old. She took me when I didn’t know much, and hadn’t any home or any parents, and she has been a mother to me ever since. The Littlefields like folks all the better for being poor, or sick, or in trouble, I believe,” said Dorothy, with another smile at Hop-clover.

“Why, that’s just like”—began Posy.

“Like Jesus Christ,” said Pollio.

“To be sure it is: they try to be like Him.”

“Dorothy,” said Hop-clover, drawing near the girl, and speaking low, “did you know my mother?”

“No: she went away just before I came; but I’ve always heard about her.”

“They say she was awful good,” said Pollio, spattering dough rather spitefully: “what did she do that was so nice?”

“Well, she went to meeting pretty steady, I guess, for one thing.”

“Poh, so does my mother: she goes every Sunday.”

“Quakers go oftener than that: they go every Thursday. They call Sunday First Day, and Thursday Fifth Day.”

“I’d like to go to Quaker meeting, ’cause my mother used to,” said Hop-clover thoughtfully.

“Well, perhaps you can: there will be meeting to-day, and all our folks will go but the hired men,” said Dorothy, going into the house with her empty bowl.

When Mrs. Littlefield heard of Hop-clover’s wish, she seemed pleased; and Pollio said at once that he and Posy wished to go too. He knew he could sit as still in church as anybody, not even excepting “Lucy-vindy’s” mother.

So they all went off together,—the eight good Quakers in drab, and the three little children in pink and blue. Hop-clover had the place of honor; for she walked between Mr. and Mrs. Littlefield, holding a hand of each. She looked too gay for a Quaker maiden; and so did Posy, for Posy wore a pink frock and pink stockings, and swung a pink parasol. She knew she was looking well, and that Pollio’s hat and jacket were nice; and I fear she tossed her head a little, as she whispered,—

“Don’t take hold of my hand, Pollio: it isn’t stylish!”

Posy was a dear little girl; but Nanty and Nunky had asked each other lately if she wasn’t growing just the least bit vain.

The Quaker meeting-house was brown, and not very pretty. It had no pulpit, but the children did not know there was no minister either. They went in and took their seats, which had very high backs. Pollio sat with Mr. Littlefield, on the men’s side; and Hop-clover and Posy were wedged in between Mrs. Swan and Mrs. Crane, on the women’s side.

They waited and waited for the minister, but he didn’t come. They waited and waited for the music, but nobody sang. Then Pollio observed that the “other men” wore their hats: so he put his on again, and peeped roguishly across the aisle at the little girls, who peeped back again, and tried not to smile.

Then they waited longer, and watched the flies, and wondered why meeting didn’t begin.

Meeting had begun. These good people, with their hats and bonnets on, were talking to God; and that is what they call a Quaker meeting. Perhaps somebody would speak by and by, perhaps not; but, at any rate, it was a Quaker meeting all the same.

It was so warm, and so still, that Pollio fell asleep, but was wakened by hearing a sing-song voice say,—

“‘While I mused, the fire burned.’”

It was Mr. Littlefield. Pollio half rose on his toes, and stared at the stove. Where was the fire?

But Mr. Littlefield meant the “fire of love.” He loved God and all God’s children; and what he said was very beautiful, only Pollio could not quite understand it.

Then he sat down again, and sat so still, that one fly washed its face on his hand, and another walked over his nose and peeped at his eyes, as if to see if he was asleep.

This was too much for Pollio. Perhaps they were Quaker flies, and had come out of Mr. Littlefield’s pocket; and, when he thought of that, he giggled outright.

It was too bad, for he was generally a very well-behaved boy in church. He could not believe his own ears. Posy could not believe hers, either, though she blushed crimson, and hid behind Hop-clover. If he had only waited one minute! The Quakers were shaking hands all round for good-by: Quaker meeting was done!

Pollio rushed out in an agony of shame; but Mr. Littlefield stopped him in the entry, by laying his hand kindly on his shoulder.

“I suppose thee got pretty tired, Napoleon. Thee isn’t used to our kind of meetings.”

Oh, to think the man should speak to him again! Pollio had supposed he was too bad to be noticed.

Posy peeped up at him from under her parasol, and he saw her face was covered with blushes. Hop-clover gave him a pitying look as she walked off with Mr. and Mrs. Littlefield; and Pollio knew she never would say again she wished she had a brother like him.

I suppose he turned fifty somersets after dinner. He always turned them when he was happy, and still more when he was sad.

“There is something about that little boy that makes me want to laugh,” said Dorothy to John. “I don’t know whether it’s his straight hair, or his black eyes, or the way he has of standing on his head.”

“He is the limberest little chap I ever saw,” said John: “and I can’t keep my face straight when he quirks himself up in such shapes; but I wish I could, for he is a great rogue, and bothers me by meddling.”

The next John saw of Pollio he was dangling from the hub of one of the new carriage-wheels, like a young monkey.

“Come away from there, youngster! you mustn’t meddle with that carriage,” said John rather sharply, trying not to laugh.

Pollio had never heard the word “youngster” before, and thought it did not sound very respectful as addressed to the son of Judge Pitcher. Perhaps it had something to do with his laughing in meeting. Oh, of course! He dropped lightly on the barn-floor; but his lip curled, and there was a spark in his eye that meant mischief. The moment John’s back was turned, he was climbing the wheel, “hand over hand,” into the carriage.

“O Pollio, get right down!” cried Posy. “You know what John said.”

“Who’s John? He’s no business with me!” said Pollio, turning a somerset on the back-seat.

“O Hop-clover! mustn’t he get down?”

“Of course he must,” replied Hop-clover, chewing some wheat she had found in a barrel.

“Tell you what it is!” said Pollio, dancing up and down, “if Mr. Littlefield had a boy, my father’d let him play in our carriage as easy as nothing.”

“Well, Ike wouldn’t,” returned Posy.

“I can’t help it about Ike, and I can’t help it about John: I guess Mr. Littlefield wants to be polite to his company,” said Pollio, cracking the whip.

The little girls had to run away for fear of being hit. It troubled them to see Pollio climb the wheels, and walk on the thills; but, the more they begged, the more he was determined to have his own way.

“Oh, what little cowards! ’Fraid of a whip, and ’fraid of a carriage without any horse! See me now! I can turn a somerset right on the wheel!”

Whether he would have tried to do it and broken his neck, I can’t say; for, as he was prancing up and down on the thill, he was stopped suddenly by a crackling noise, as if wood was splitting in two. He knew what it was: he had broken the thill!

His brown face turned almost white as he slipped back into the carriage.

“‘O boys! carry me ’long,’” sang he in a husky voice, as if nothing had happened.

The girls had not heard the noise, for they had been screaming to him not to turn a somerset on the wheel.

“‘O boys! carry me ’long.’ ‘Swing low, sweet chariot!’” said pale, guilty Pollio, scrambling slowly down from the carriage. “Let’s go find some eggs.”

What would he have given now if it were this forenoon instead of this afternoon! What would he have given if he had obeyed John, and not broken the beautiful new carriage, and disgraced himself forever!

But need anybody know he had broken it? John was coming back with the colts; and, as Pollio saw him, he plunged headlong into a barrel of straw. John laughed, and thought that was a boy’s way of hunting for eggs. He did not suppose Pollio had climbed into the carriage at all.

“Glad I got out before he came,” thought Pollio, his heart beating fast.