He was a venerable old
man, and had long, white hair, and the Woods thought a great deal of
him. He had come to get Mrs. Wood to make some nourishing dishes for a
sick woman in the village, and while he was talking to her, Miss Laura
and the two young men went out of the house. They hurried across the
veranda and over the lawn, talking and laughing, and enjoying themselves
as only happy young people can, and with not a trace of their
seriousness of a few moments before on their faces.
They were going so fast that they ran right into a flock of geese that
were coming up the lane. They were driven by a little boy called Tommy,
the son of one of Mr. Wood's farm laborers, and they were chattering and
gabbling, and seemed very angry. "What's all this about?" said Mr.
Harry, stopping and looking at the boy. "What's the matter with your
feathered charges, Tommy, my lad?"
"If it's the geese you mean," said the boy, half crying and looking very
much put out, "it's all them nasty potatoes. They won't keep away from
them."
"So the potatoes chase the geese, do they," said Mr. Maxwell, teasingly.
"No, no," said the child, pettishly; "Mr.
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