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The boy's monotonous chant began again: his eyes were fixed and blank as before. 'I fell off a tree, and my leg hit a branch on the way down. 'Curious accident, said Merton; 'and None-so-pretty saw the mark? 'Yes. 'And asked you how you got it? 'Yes, and she saw blue marks on Batsy, all over her arms. 'And you told None-so-pretty that you fell off a tree? 'Yes.
As she turned this over in her mind Lilac lingered over her preparations, and when Peter came near her tossing the hay to right and left with his strong arms, she looked up at him and said: "I'm sorry about None-so-pretty." Peter stopped a moment, took off his straw hat and rubbed his hot red face with his handkerchief. "Thank yer," he answered; "so am I."
They passed some cottages with pretty gardens in front; they stopped for a second to look at the old-fashioned columbine and monkshood, the none-so-pretty, the yellow and crimson wall-flower, the peony roses.
"Ah, she's a sort of a little fancy coo, she is," he said; "she belongs to the young master. He thinks a lot of her. `We'll call this one None-so-pretty, says he, when he brung her home." "Why does it belong to him," asked Lilac, "more than the other cows?" "Well, it were like this 'ere," said Ben, who was fond of company and always willing to talk. "This is how it wur.
'And she told you to come here? 'Yes, she had read your printed article. 'Well, here is luncheon, said Merton, and bade the office boy call Miss Blossom from the inner chamber to share the meal. Batsy had as low a chair as possible, and was disposing her napkin to do the duty of a pinafore. Miss Blossom entered from within with downcast eyes. 'None-so-pretty!
Go and bring luncheon for five, and see that there are chicken, cutlets, tartlets, apricots, and ginger- beer. The boy departed and Merton reflected. 'A hoax, somebody's practical joke, he said to himself. 'I wonder who Miss None-so-pretty is. Then he returned, assured Batsy that luncheon was even at the doors, and leaving her to look at Punch, led Mr. Apsley aside.
"I could get the same price for None-so-pretty," said Peter after a long pause. "Mrs Grey wants her over at Cuddingham. Took a fancy to her a month ago." "I'll not have her sold," said the farmer quickly. "What's the good of selling her? She's useful to us, and the colt isn't." "She ain't not exactly so useful to us as the other cows," said Peter. "She's more of a fancy."
For there was no smell in all the town like the clean, sweet smell of the open fields just after a summer rain, no colors like the bright heart's-ease and none-so-pretty, or the honeysuckle over the cottage door, and no song ever to be heard among the sooty chimney-pots like the song of the throstle piping to the daisies on the hill.
More eggs, more milk, better butter, bees swarmed early." "But," put in Lilac, "Aunt sprained her ankle, and the colt went lame, and you had to sell None-so-pretty. That wasn't lucky. Why didn't the brownie hinder that?" Peter shook his head. "I don't say as there is a brownie at the farm," he said. "But you think he helps make the butter," said Lilac scornfully.
A little while ago she would have passed quickly on without a moment's hesitation, but now she felt a sort of sympathy with Peter. She was lonely, and he was lonely; besides, he had been kind to None-so-pretty. So presently she made a little rustle, which roused Sober from his slumbers.
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