"_There_, Granny!" she exclaimed, with the air of one who has just got a number of troublesome little duties accomplished, "I guess no lynxes, or nothing, 'll get the sheep to-night, anyways. Now, I must go an' hunt up old 'Spotty' afore it gets too dark. I don't see what's made her wander off to-day. She always sticks around the barn close as a burr!"
The old woman smiled, knowing that the survival of a wild instinct in the cow had led her to seek some hiding-place, near home but secluded, wherein to secrete her new-born calf.
"I guess old 'Spotty' knows enough to come home when she gets ready, Child!" she answered. "She's been kept that close all winter, the snow bein' so deep, I don't wonder she wants to roam a bit now she can git 'round. Land sakes, I wish't _I_ could roam a bit, 'stead er sittin', sittin', an' knittin', knittin', mornin', noon an' night, all along of these 'ere useless old legs of mine!"
"Poor Granny!" murmured the girl, softly, tears coming into her eyes. "I wish't we could get 'round, the two of us, in these sweet-smellin' spring woods, an' get the first Mayflowers together! Couldn't you just try now, Granny? I believe you are goin' to walk all right again some day, just as well as any of us. Do try!"
Thus adjured, the old woman grasped the arms of her chair sturdily, set her jaw, and lifted herself quite upright. But a groan forced itself from her lips, and she sank back heavily, her face creased with pain. Recovering herself with a resolute effort, however, she smiled rather ruefully.
"Some day, mebbe, if the good Lord wills!" said she, shaking her head. "But 'tain't this day, Melindy! You'll be the death o' me yet, Child, you're so set on me gittin' 'round ag'in!"
"Why, Granny, you did splendid!" cried the girl. "That was the best yet, the best you've ever done since I come to you. You stood just as straight as anybody for a minute. Now, I'll go an' hunt old 'Spotty.'" And she turned toward the tiny path that led across the pasture to the burnt-woods.
"What's the good o' botherin' about old 'Spotty' to-night, Melindy? Let her have her fling. Them frogs make me that lonesome to-night I can't bear to let ye a minnit out o' my sight, Child! Ther' ain't no other sound like it, to my way o' thinkin', for music nor for lonesomeness. It 'most breaks my heart with the sweetness of it, risin' an' fallin' on the wet twilight that way. But I just got to have somebody 'round when I listen to it!"