across the brook, over stock and stone, like a young chamois; and when she had got to some distance, she turned round, and pelted me with turnips, till she made me spill every drop of the water with which I was pursuing her.
It was not till I had given her a solemn promise not to resent the trick she had played me, that peace was restored between us. I carried her net, and we returned, laughing and joking, to the old man, who was amused by our frolics, and seemed to survey with peculiar complacency the lovely figure of the blooming girl.
Mimili hastened into the house to prepare supper. “How much you are to be envied the possession of such a daughter!” said I, observing the silent rapture with which his eyes hung upon her.
“Indeed, sir,” replied he, “a man who has such a child may well be envied. She is my only joy and my only pride. The years she passed at Zug were like ages to me and yet I am glad I sent her thither, for she learned something there, perhaps more than she will ever have occasion for. My neighbour, Mr. * * * *, is very fond of her”—(these words struck me breathless)—“he reads the ancient poets with her, and supplies her with new books and music. She draws and paints very prettily; and when she sings to me, and accompanies herself on the
