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Copyright © 2021 by Hondo Jinx
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.
Wrangler 3 is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and events are either
the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Edited by Karen Bennett

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 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50

Author’s Note
This one’s for Uncle Kip, who was a great hunter and even better
storyteller.
I’ll never forget what’s important, Kip. I’ll never forget family.
 1

Braddock swept Cleaver upward, blocking the goblin’s attack and

shearing his attacker’s blade at the pommel.
The goblin staggered backward, reeling from the forceful block,
and Braddock drove a powerful kick into his opponent’s chest,
blasting the burly goblin from his feet and pitching him through the
air.
The goblin slammed him into the trunk of one of the trees that
formed the meadow’s defensive palisade and fell groaning to the
ground beside his butchered comrades, whose blood coated Cleaver
in hot gore.
Thank you for feeding me, Master, Cleaver purred in his mind.
Goblin blood is thin nourishment yet nourishment all the same.
No problem, darlin, he responded.
Seizing the goblin’s ratty tunic, Braddock hauled the dazed
humanoid to his feet, gave him a shake, and growled in Goblin,
“Why are you here?”
“Hunting.”
Braddock smacked Cleaver’s pommel into the goblin’s heavy jaw.
“You lie, you die.”
The goblin spat blood and bits of broken teeth. He tried to look
surly, but looking into Braddock’s eyes and seeing the truth, he
sagged, begging, “Have mercy, Meadow Master. We meant no
harm.”
“Enough blubbering. Tell me the truth. What were you doing?”
 “An errand, Meadow Master.”
“Spying.”
The goblin didn’t deny it.
“Who sent you?”
“Have mercy, Meadow Master. We had no choice.”
Braddock shook the burly little poltroon. “Who sent you?”
“It was…” The goblin hesitated, paralyzed with fear, trapped
between death at Braddock’s hands and whatever terrible
consequences might result from betraying his employer.
Braddock laid Cleaver against the goblin’s face, and that decided
it. Cowards always bend to the most immediate threat.
“We were sent by His Dominance, the Great and Terrible—”
The goblin’s head jerked and froze, pinned to the tree by the
arrow now jutting through his forehead.
A second arrow whispered across Braddock’s side, repelled by his
magical armor. He reacted quickly, dropping into a crouch. He leapt
away at an angle, spinning to face the threat, and another arrow
raced through the spot he’d vacated.
Scanning the forest, he caught a flicker of movement. The archer
was retreating.
Grinning fiercely, Braddock charged after the fleeing figure,
thinking, You’re going to tell me what I want to know. The Great and
Terrible who?
But a second later, as Braddock was closing the gap, a white
flash streaked out of the sky, struck the goblin, and tore his ugly
head from his shoulders.
Frustrated, Braddock marched the rest of the way to the headless
corpse.
Smiling proudly and clearly pregnant now, Shrike hovered
overhead holding the decapitated head out to him in her talon. In
her hands, she held the heads of half a dozen additional goblins.
They are all dead, Man. Shrike killed them like scampering field
mice.
Braddock was frustrated. He had wanted to interrogate this last
goblin. But Shrike had acted logically, neutralizing the threat, and
the last thing he wanted to do was make this deadly bird woman
start questioning herself. She knew these woods and its creatures
even better than he did and excelled like none other at dealing
death.
And that made her a beautiful asset.
Thank you, darlin. I got plans for those heads.
And the bodies?
Yours. Do with them what you will.
Thank you, Man. Her bloody beak spread in what he knew would
have been a smile had she been wearing her other, human-like face.
Man is generous. Shrike will feed. Goblin flesh is sour, but the
daughter of Man and Shrike must grow on the flesh of the forest.
How else will she rule the wilderness?
Darlin, I’d like to see something try to stop her.
Shrike shivered with pleasure at his confidence in their offspring,
and shivered again when he tugged her feathery legs, pulled her
down, and planted a soft kiss on her swollen belly.
A fierce little kick answered from within.
Braddock laughed, making a show of rubbing his jaw. She packs
a punch.
Shrike beamed. She is growing strong, Man.
What will you call her?
Shrike hugged her belly. I will call her Baby.
Baby? He laughed.
Of course. That is what she will be. Our baby.
Might be a funny name when she gets older, don’t you reckon?
Shrike narrowed her eyes, as if trying to see if Braddock was
joking. Her own jokes had grown slightly more nuanced from her
days of simply startling would-be prey for laughs, but she still had a
way to go.
When she begins to hunt alone, we will no longer call her Baby.
All right. What will we call her then?
Again, she squinted at him. Is Man poking fun at Shrike?
No. I just want to know what we’re going to call our daughter
once she’s grown.
Shrike, of course!
 Braddock scratched his head, the hair sticking to his bloody
hands. Won’t that be a tad bit confusing? I mean, you are Shrike.
Shrike threw back her head and clacked her beak loudly, a thing
he had come to recognize as restrained laughter in her huntress
form. Man, you amuse Shrike. Yes, Shrike will remain Shrike. Our
daughter will also be Shrike. We will both be Shrike. It is what we
are. Where is the confusion?
Braddock shook his head. He would never understand women.
And that went double for bird women. But he had learned to
surrender certain decisions to them. And the naming of young fit
firmly in that category. Sounds good, darlin. Shrike it is. Now let me
see those heads.
Shrike handed him her gruesome payload.
Much obliged, he told her.
Man, Baby grows impatient. She will soon emerge.
Good. I can’t wait to meet her, darlin.
Shrike looked sad. And indeed, her telepathic voice sounded
uncharacteristically maudlin. Do you know what Shrike must do
when Baby arrives?
Philia said you need to take Baby away to be alone for a bit.
Shrike nodded, her eyes full of sorrow. Shrike must take Baby
away to a lonely place and subject her to hardship. Shrike will feed
and protect Baby for one moon, until Baby makes her first kill. Then
Shrike will abandon Baby in the wilderness.
Braddock felt a surge of protectiveness for his unborn child. Now,
hold on just a second there, darlin. What do you mean, abandon
her?
It must be done, Man.
I forbid it. No daughter of mine is going to be left to fend for
herself out in the forest, let alone at one month of age.
Shrike settled to the ground before him and pulled up to her full
height, glaring at him with flaming eyes. What does Man know of
raising a newborn shrike?
Nothing, but—
Say no more. Man has already spoken the truth. Man knows
nothing about raising newborn shrikes. Baby must fend for herself or
die.
I won’t let her die.
Man does not understand. If Baby does not survive the test of
abandonment, Baby will grow weak and die within one moon. It is
the way of all shrikes: rule or die.
Just like that, in a bolt of common sense, Braddock believed her.
All right, darlin. It twisted his guts to say the words, but he said
them anyway. You do what you gotta do.
He wanted to ask her what their daughter’s chances were but
didn’t want to bruise his steady confidence, so he simply nodded.
Our daughter will rule the wilderness.
Shrike embraced him fiercely, her beak melting into her other
face and its otherworldly beauty, and they made love on the forest
floor among the scattered remains of the dead.
Shrike was unusually tender and needy. Braddock was patient
with her, savoring the emotion between them and feeling a bit
maudlin himself. When the time for her isolation came, he would
miss this magnificent woman dearly.
When they finished, Shrike confessed that she dreaded the long
separation.
It’ll be all right, darlin. You’ll see.
Shrike’s heart will be torn in two with missing Man.
I’ll miss you, too, darlin. And Baby. But then it will be over, just
like my trip to Black Harbor.
This will be an even longer separation, the bird woman pouted.
He held her a little longer then planted a kiss on her feathery
forehead. You’ll be all right, darlin. Now, let’s get a move on. We got
a full day ahead of us.
Shrike nodded, collected herself, and went about her business,
impaling goblin torsos on nearby branches twenty feet off the
ground.
Braddock used his tomahawk to free any heads still attached to
bodies. Then he trimmed branches, whittled the ends, and used
them to impale the heads at eye level.
The eye level of goblins, that is.
 Finally, as Shrike disappeared deeper into the forest, carrying the
last corpse, Braddock dipped a stick in goblin blood and wrote a
simple message in Goblin upon one of their crude wooden shields,
which he then propped up among the stakes.
SPIES, he wrote. PAID IN FULL.
Then he spoke the magical words that parted the palisade and
immediately glimpsed a scene of great prosperity. Thanks to Binti,
herds of deer, sheep, goats, pigs, and sheep dotted the meadow.
Automatically glancing skyward for signs of the giant roc, he
whistled for the buckskin, who came trotting out from under the
trees. Braddock mounted up and started for the dark square of the
intake camp’s palisade within the palisade.
In the far distance, he could just make out the sprawl of new
buildings clustered at the heart of the meadow. Thin lines of smoke
rose from their chimneys, and the surrounding fields twinkled with
Cascadia’s irrigation system.
Somewhere to the left, Doal, newly emerged from his long
hibernation, would be helping the halflings to excavate their village.
With the warming weather, word of Wrangler City was spreading
across the wilderness. Newcomers showed up practically every day.
The population had tripled since he killed the hag.
“Good morning, Meadow Master!” the guards, a pair of half-elves
with bows, called from atop the towers of the intake camp. The gate
swung open, and Jed rode into the compound.
Immediately, he heard shouting coming from one of the holding
tanks on the far side. “I demand to see the Meadow Master now!”
It was a woman’s voice, loud, fierce, and very, very angry.
Caitlin emerged from her office, an uncertain smile on her pretty
face. As always, she looked fit and beautiful in her spider-silk
jumpsuit. A short sword hung at her side. And since Jed and the
Earthwoman trained daily, she knew how to use it. “Hey, Jed. We
have a new arrival. She’s being… difficult.”
Braddock shifted his eyes toward the shouting.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” the unseen woman shouted.
He spat in the dust. Well, this would be a first. So far, he had
invited every refugee to join Wrangler City. “I knew we’d have to
send somebody packing eventually. Sounds like today’s the day.”
Caitlin nodded, but her expression remained uncertain. “Could
be. But Jed. She’s not like the others.”
“How’s that, darlin?”
“She’s a monster girl.”
 2

Braddock sat his horse, squinting toward the shouting. To this point,
the steady stream of refugees had been comprised of humanoids.
“Monster girl or not, if she’s not a fit, I’ll send her on her way.”
Caitlin nodded, looking relieved. Then she noticed his bloody
clothes. “Everything okay?”
“It is now. But I need to delay our training session. Have to pick
Philia’s brain about what happened first.”
“All right. Do you have time to pass judgment? This newcomer
is… insistent.”
Right on cue, the unseen monster girl shouted, “I’m through
talking with you peasants! Bring me the Meadow Master now!”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to folks before going to Philia.”
“Great,” Caitlin said. “Want to see the monster girl first?”
He laughed. “No. Make her wait her turn.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “She’s not going to be happy about this.”
“If she doesn’t like it, she can hit the trail. Who’s up first?”
“The dwarves I mentioned.”
He nodded. “Any issues?”
Caitlin shook her head. “They’re healed and fed and waiting
patiently.”
“All right. I’ll start with them. Who else?”
Caitlin nodded. “Another half dozen rabbit folk showed up
yesterday.”
“All right.”
 “And this morning you have a visitor from a mountain thirty miles
to the north.”
“What sort of visitor?”
“An emissary.
“An emissary? Sounds fancy.”
“Not really. But he’s sincere. Serious, even. He’s a gnome.”
“What’s he want?”
Caitlin shrugged. “He says he’ll only talk to the Meadow Master.
But he doesn’t seem like a refugee. He might be trouble.”
Braddock shrugged. “All right. Anyone else?”
Caitlin hooked a thumb toward the shouting. “Just her.”
The monster girl’s deep voice hollered, “I’ve never been so
insulted in all my life!”
Braddock chuckled. “Yeah, definitely make her wait. Send in the
dwarves.”
A minute later, eighteen dwarves shuffled into the courtyard,
looking sheepish. In the manner of refugees, they were mostly
women and children. The four adult males among them wore long
white beards and old scars and held their hats at their beltlines.
The dwarves bowed as one.
“Good morning,” Braddock said, “and welcome to Wrangler City. I
hope you slept well.”
A busty and broad-faced woman stepped forward. She had thick
forearms and not a few scars of her own, and though she wore a
dress rather than armor, she had an axe strapped to her back.
“Meadow Master,” she said, giving a slight bow. “I am Brilda,
daughter of Gunder and Pleen, may the Mountain long preserve their
bones.”
Braddock gave a little nod.
“First, Meadow Master, thank you for saving us. Without your
help, many of us would have died from our wounds, and the rest
would only have been killed or enslaved in the coming weeks. The
People of the Mountain will remain forever in your debt. We—"
“You’re welcome,” Braddock interjected, not wanting her to go
on. It was important to allow folks to express their gratitude. But a
little thanks goes a long way, and he had work to do. “Good to meet
you, Brilda. I’m sorry for what happened to your people.”
At dinner in Esper’s great mess hall the previous night, Caitlin
had explained the dwarves’ plight. A week earlier, they had led
peaceful lives in a small mountain community four days to the East.
Raiding goblins had murdered most of the dwarves before these few
survivors had driven them off.
Knowing the goblins were merely shock troops in the service of a
larger and far more deadly force of hobgoblins, the dwarves had
retreated, instantly heading toward the meadow they had been
hearing so much about lately.
Halfway to the meadow, a wood elf raiding party had attacked
the survivors, killing half the remaining dwarves, stealing their
mounts, and carrying off most of their supplies.
The closeness of those wood elves was a concern to Braddock.
He had to wonder. Was the wood elf chief known as His Dominance,
the Great and Terrible?
Or could that be the leader of the hobgoblins?
More questions for Philia.
Brilda nodded grimly. She was every inch a warrior, dress or no
dress. “Thank you, Meadow Master.”
“We have healed and fed you as neighbors should. What more
would you ask of Wrangler City?” He knew what they wanted, of
course, but he reckoned it was important, as a matter of procedure,
to have refugees say it out loud.
Brilda bowed her head slightly then lifted her chin and met his
eyes. “We desire to become citizens, Meadow Master.”
Braddock gave her half a smile. Yes, he had made her say the
words, but he wouldn’t drag things out. “You’re prepared to work
hard?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And the rest of you?” he asked, glancing past her, where the
other dwarves stood, looking hopeful. “Are you willing to pitch in and
do your part?”
“Yes, Meadow Master,” they chorused.
 “And you children,” Braddock asked the stubby little boys and
girls peeking from behind their mothers, “are you ready to go to
school?”
“About that, Meadow Master,” Brilda said. “We dwarves believe a
child’s place is beside its parents, learning to forge or cook or mend.”
Braddock nodded. “Your kids, your call. School is an opportunity,
not a requirement. Work, on the other hand, is mandatory. Everyone
works, everyone benefits.”
Brilda smiled at that. “Well in that case, Master, we would make
ideal citizens. You will find no harder workers than the People of the
Mountain.”
The other dwarves nodded.
Braddock didn’t doubt them. Looking around, he saw a few
swords and axes. Mostly, however, they carried blacksmithing tools.
“And you’ll do whatever sort of work Caitlin assigns you?”
“Without complaint, Meadow Master. Though if I may be so bold,
we’re better suited to forge than farm.”
“Wrangler City is growing. We need blacksmiths. Welcome,
citizens.”
Brilda smiled and bowed again. “Thank you, Meadow Master. We
will earn our keep.”
“Can you build a forge?”
“Can we build a forge?” Brilda laughed. “Does Timli have hairy
balls?”
This summoned laughter among the dwarves.
Braddock didn’t know who Timli was. A dwarven hero, maybe.
Whatever the case, he said, “Have at it then. Caitlin will tell you
where to dig.”
With a profusion of low bows, the elated dwarves backed away.
Next were the rabbit folk. Like others of their kind, they were
small, timid, and attractive. After a brief exchange, Braddock invited
them to join the meadow as well.
Then he told Caitlin to send in the emissary.
While he waited for the gnome, the monster girl across the
courtyard bellowed, “If you offer me water again, I’ll rip off your
head and drink your blood!”
 Well, this was going to be interesting.
A moment later, the gnome entered the courtyard. Three feet tall
and lean as a swagger stick, he marched up to Braddock in slightly
glowing chainmail and gray knee-high boots. His skin was nut
brown, his neatly trimmed goatee was bright white, and his blue
eyes were as hard and cold as chips of glacier ice. Overall, he
reminded Braddock of a cavalry officer.
The gnome stopped ten feet before the mustang, drew himself
up straight as a flagpole, and saluted.
Braddock nodded. His saluting days were long over.
“Meadow Master, I am Grigory Grayshanks, emissary to the King
of Caves, Drogel Grayshanks,” the gnome said in a high-pitched
voice, “great be his ire and greater still his friendship.”
“Welcome,” Braddock said. This little guy didn’t look like much of
a threat, especially from atop a horse, but Braddock had been
around enough soldiers to read the man’s confidence regardless of
his size. “What can I do for you?”
“King Drogel has heard of your exploits, Meadow Master, and
wishes to know if it is true that you slew centaurs, a woolly dragon,
and the river hag.”
Braddock nodded.
“And you have taken a shrike as a wife?”
“Among others. We’re building a town here. Taking in refugees.
You folks need a place to live?”
Grigory Grayshanks just looked at him for a second. “No,
Meadow Master. But… thank you for your concern. We are, in fact,
quite powerful. We number in excess of four hundred souls.”
Braddock whistled. “In that case, I’m glad you’re all set up.
Things would be a might crowded around here if all four hundred of
you moved in. But if you aren’t refugees, what do you want?”
“Our fortress lies thirty miles to the east, Meadow Master, which
means your meadow lies within our tariff lands.”
Braddock spat. “If that’s your way of saying you expect us to pay
taxes, I got some bad news for you. We are a free people. This is
our land. We don’t owe anybody anything. And if your king thinks—”
 Grigory Grayshanks raised a hand. “We expect no tribute,
Meadow Master. At this time.”
“Change that last bit to ‘ever,’ and we’ll be seeing eye to eye,
partner.”
“King Drogel does not want your money. He merely wishes your
fealty.”
Braddock shook his head. “If your king wants to visit, I’d be
happy to strike up a friendship, and if I’m open to trade. But I
pledge allegiance to no man.”
Grigory Grayshanks frowned. It was a slight thing but there
nonetheless.
“This is the frontier,” Braddock said, “and Indian country to boot,
if you catch my meaning. In the wilderness, men do well to work
together from time to time. But this Drogel fellow isn’t my king, and
he should know that I’ll die on my horse before I crawl on my belly.”
Grigory Grayshanks stared up with his hard, cold eyes. “You
should know, Meadow Master, that King Drogel is a terrible enemy.”
“What are we doing here, hoss? You come to dance or fight? I’m
game either way, but I’m too busy to waste my time waiting for you
to make up your mind. You want to threaten me, don’t do it out of
the side of your mouth. Look me straight in the eyes and say what
you gotta say, man to man, or get off my meadow.”
Grigory Grayshanks frowned again. Less slightly this time. “I
intended no threat. Merely a proposition.”
“Let me guess. Goblins and hobgoblins? Orcs? Wood elves? Who
does he want me to kill?”
“No one, yet. But the land is stirring. And not merely with the
usual seasonal migration. There are strange energies at work upon
the forest. A restlessness. Large movements of those you mentioned
and even stories of others appearing where they should have no
business.”
“Which others would that be?”
“Sidians.”
That got Braddock’s attention. He had been waiting for Sidians to
show up on a mission to kill off the rat folk he had saved from the
blizzard.
 “Where?”
“We’ve heard of three separate sightings. One far to the north.
Another fifty miles to the west. And one halfway between your home
and ours.”
“Thank you for the warning. I saw a single Sidian destroy a team
of veteran gladiators in Black Harbor. Then a Sidian assassin showed
up, killed the victor, and vanished a second later. I gotta say, they
made an impression.”
The gnome nodded, and his eyes slid out of focus for a second.
“One never forgets the terror of a rampaging Sidian.”
“What do you aim to do about them?”
“Do about them? Nothing, of course. Evade and avoid. There can
be no appeasing the Sidians. They care nothing for gold or gems. If,
however, we must face them, King Drogel wants to know he can
count on you.”
“What does he offer in return?”
“Friendship.”
Braddock gestured toward the wall and out into the meadow
beyond. “I got all the friends I need and more arriving every day.
You boys going to come running if we need help?”
“I cannot speak for the king.”
“Well, I can. He says yes, and we strike a deal, a defensive deal
that goes both ways. Or he says no, and we go our separate ways.”
The gnome looked at him for a second, a thoughtful expression
on his face, as if he were trying to work out a math equation.
“Meadow Master, I would no sooner speak for you than for my own
king…”
“But you’re fixing to do it now, aren’t you?”
“Not precisely. But across the courtyard, I saw you speaking with
our cousins, the People of the Mountain. Brilda was among them if I
am not mistaken. Speak to her about my people and our king. They
will perhaps help you to understand the situation.”
“I understand the situation just fine, buddy. You want me to
come running if you’re attacked, but you’re not willing to guarantee
that you’ll help me if the tables are turned.”
“Such is not for me to say, Meadow Master.”
 “Well, I guess that means we’re done here, then.”
“I will deliver your response to King Drogel. When he passes
judgment, I will return with his terms.”
“You’re welcome anytime, but unless he’s willing to strike a fair
deal, you might as well save yourself the time and trouble.”
Grigory Grayshanks snapped to attention, saluted Braddock,
executed a crisp about face, and marched off.
Sidians, Braddock thought, and felt a chill as if he were back in
the blizzard. Sidians within fifteen miles. Are they hunting the rat
folk?
Across the courtyard, a door banged open. An angry voice
shouted, “Out of my way! I don’t need an escort!”
And the biggest woman Braddock had ever seen strode into view.
 3

She had to be nine feet tall. At least nine feet. Probably ten.
Seeing Braddock, the gigantic woman straightened, pushing her
chin out like the prow of a proud boat cutting smoothly through the
air, trailed by the wake of her flowing black locks.
That was his impression of her. A proud ship sailing his way. But
not just any boat. A proud and polished galley, its masts rising up
and up and up. A ship of the line, a vast thing fitted for war,
powerful, sleek, and beautiful.
She was a giantess of some sort but being a monster girl, she
lacked the heavy bone structure of her kin. Instead, she looked like
an athletic Indian squaw writ large. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes
stared directly at him from a face that radiated beauty and strength,
the latter punctuated by the complicated lines of her nose, which
had obviously been broken in the past, likely more than once.
She wore a shiny golden breastplate, a short-sleeved black tunic,
a leather kilt, gladiator sandals laced just below the knee, and a
broad leather belt bristling with huge weapons. Her limbs were long
and slender and muscular, their bronze skin shining as if oiled.
Ten feet from Braddock, the giantess ripped her sword from its
scabbard.
Braddock tensed and the buckskin, old campaigner that he was,
moved backward several steps.
The giantess rammed the point of her sword into the ground and
knelt behind it, head bowed. Without looking up, she said, “Meadow
Master, I, Princess Gress, formerly of Long Valley, come humbly
before you, seeking your audience and benevolence.”
“Humbly?” Braddock said, still mindful of that big sword of hers.
Even with the guards up above, he wished he’d unslung the Henry
before entertaining his visitors. To ready the weapon now, however,
would convey weakness. Better to play this out and consider a
procedural change in the future. He had gotten a bit too comfortable
with all these battered stragglers seeking refuge. “You sure didn’t
sound humble shouting at my people and making demands.”
The woman lifted her face, and her dark eyes flashed with anger.
“They did not treat me with proper respect!”
“Did they offer you a place to stay?”
“They did, Meadow Master.”
“Food? Drink?”
“Yes, Meadow Master.”
“Did they offer to heal any wounds?”
“Yes, Meadow Master.”
“Then I don’t see the problem. They treated you exactly the way
they treat everyone else.”
“That is the problem, Meadow Master. I am no mere commoner.”
She shot to her feet and stuck out her chin in proud defiance. “I am
Princess Gress of Long Valley, daughter of the much-mourned
Shaman-Queen Toggan of Long Valley, may her soul power the stars
forevermore.”
Gress’s chin lowered a couple of notches and her voice dropped
to a grumble. “And I am sister to Tress, the new Shaman-Queen of
Long Valley… long may she rule.”
The giantess’s voice faded with that last bit.
“Well, Gress, you might be a princess where you come from, but
here in Wrangler City, you’re just a visitor. That means we will be
hospitable, just as we are to every visitor. No more and no less. Your
title and family name will gain no special favor here. I expect you to
treat my people—all of my people—with respect.”
For a second, Gress looked like she had been slapped. Her supple
muscles tensed, but she made no move to lift her sword, so
Braddock didn’t command the buckskin to lash out with one of its
quick hooves and bash in her big forehead.
Instead, he spoke the words, and across the courtyard, the
section of the wall defined by the meadow’s outer palisade opened
onto the western valley.
He nodded toward the gap. “You don’t like it, darlin, leave.”
Gress started to speak, then shut her mouth in a tight line.
It was interesting to watch her struggle with herself. She was
clearly used to different treatment but just as clearly wanted to stay.
Her whole body was rigid, as if it took all of her physical strength to
hold back the words she wished to shout at him.
After a few seconds of strained silence, the towering woman
composed herself, relaxed her muscles, and gave the slightest of
nods. “Understood, Meadow Master. I will endeavor to treat your
slaves more kindly in the future.”
“There are no slaves here,” Braddock said. “Nor will there be. The
citizens of Wrangler City are free, one and all.”
Gress blinked at that, looking genuinely confused.
It was a thing he had seen many times, both here and back on
Earth: a person struck dumb by another culture’s peculiarities. To
her, the absence of slaves simply made no sense.
Braddock did his best, when in Rome, to do as Romans do, but
this was his meadow. In the clash of cultures, both sides assume
they are right. But that doesn’t mean all cultures are right… or even
equal.
And here on the meadow, Braddock would neither bend to
Gress’s customs nor waste additional time explaining his own. She
could adapt or leave.
Recovering her composure, Gress nodded again. This time, the
gesture was a bit more pronounced. “Understood, Meadow Master.”
“So, what do you want from me?” he asked, letting his own
bitterness show. Normally, he wasn’t a man who put his emotions on
display, but nothing rankled him like elitists.
Gress lifted her chin once more. “I have traveled many miles to
meet you, Meadow Master, and to offer you an invaluable gift.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
 Gress hesitated, and her face turned bright pink. “Myself,
Meadow Master.”
“You’re the gift?”
Gress smiled for the first time. “Yes, Meadow Master. You may
deflower me.”
Braddock scratched the rough stubble on his jaw, studying her
for a second. She appeared to be serious. “And why would I do that,
darlin?”
Gress’s smile died, replaced by a look of confusion. “I am a
princess, Meadow Master, the daughter of the greatest ogre-mage
shaman-queen the north has ever known.”
Her words kindly jarred him. “You’re an ogress?”
Again, the chin lifted. “An ogre-mage shaman-princess.”
“Right. I… well… pardon me, but you don’t look like other ogres
I’ve met.”
Met, he thought, remembering the great, lumpy bodies and
shattered skulls of the ogres he had killed along the river, that was
one way to put it.
Gress rolled her eyes. “I assure you, Meadow Master, just
because I’m small-boned and look more like a human than an
ogress, I am not weak. I’m every bit as strong as a male warrior,
much more skilled in combat, and unlike common ogres, I can use
magic.”
“What sort of magic?”
“Well, you see, at the moment, I… um…” Gress stammered, and
her face pinkened again.
Braddock sat his horse, waiting.
“I didn’t expect Mother to die,” Gress explained. “You have to
understand that. She was so strong, so powerful, so beloved. I
thought I had all the time in the world to learn from her.
“So instead of cultivating mana and crafting spells, I spent my
days training as a warrior. In hindsight, it was… foolish. But I wanted
to be different than my older sister. She was small and bookish and
sickly, not even nine feet tall and barely able to lift a boulder
overhead. Meanwhile, I was like mother. Tall and strong and a quick
study in the ways of war. So I delayed my magical training, much as
mother had, and favored mastering axe and sword over practicing
the spells I assumed I would one day learn.
“But then Mother died. And it was too late. Physically, I am the
strongest of my tribe, but I know only rudimentary skills and have
no teacher.”
“What about your sister?”
Gress laughed bitterly and lowered her gaze to stare at her feet
with haunted eyes. “Tress? As soon as she seized control, she exiled
me.”
“Why?”
Gress lifted her face and stared directly into Braddock’s eyes.
“Because I know the truth. I know what she did. And she knows that
I will avenge our mother!”
Braddock could see much in her eyes: rage, indignation,
determination, and the hot thirst of a woman bent on avenging deep
injustice.
“This is why I am offering my body to you, Meadow Master,”
Gress explained. “Once you breed me, my mana will increase
greatly, opening a whole realm of spells. Then I will return to Long
Valley, kill my sister, avenge my mother, and seize my rightful
position as the shaman-queen of my people.”
Braddock raised one eyebrow. “You got this all figured out, huh,
darlin?”
Gress smiled again, enthusiastic now. “Yes, Meadow Master. After
I have taken power, I will march south to complete my revenge.”
“How’s that?”
“By killing my father!” Gress said. “The so-called Sky Baron.”
That got Braddock’s attention. He remembered Red Eyes talking
about the Earthman buzzing his boats in something he called a
“steel eagle.”
Caitlin figured the Sky Baron’s steel eagle was a powerful
machine called an airplane.
“Hold on, darlin. Your daddy’s the Sky Baron?”
Gress frowned. “Yes, Meadow Master, as much as it pains me to
confess that truth, he is my father.”
“And he’s a man?”
 “Yes, Meadow Master. A true man, like you. But a corrupted man,
thanks to my sister. He visited us infrequently. Once every few years.
During his last visit, my sister used dark magic to seduce him. That’s
how she gained power so rapidly. And a week after he left, while I
was out on patrol, my mother succumbed to a strange fever. When I
returned, my wonderful mother was dead, my sister was the new
shaman-queen, and I was no longer welcome in Long Valley.”
Braddock whistled long and low. “I’m sorry for your trouble,
darlin. Sounds like you’ve had an awful rough road.”
Gress nodded, seeming to wilt for a second, then pulled herself
straight and lifted her chin again. “But now I am here, Meadow
Master. And after you breed me, I will set things right.”
“Sorry, darlin,” Braddock said. “No can do.”
Gress’s mouth dropped open. “You are refusing me?”
“That’s right. I’m sorry for your troubles, but they are none of my
affair, and I’m not going to bond with you.”
Gress looked shocked. “But I am a princess. A beautiful and
powerful princess.”
“You are indeed beautiful, darlin, and I have no doubt that you’re
powerful, but I already have several wives and women—”
“You’re rejecting me?” Gress shouted, stepping forward and
spreading her arms wide, making her sword flash in the air.
Above, the guards cried out in warning and drew their bows.
The buckskin, a creature of the wastelands, didn’t bother with a
warning. He reared back, lashed out with a hoof, and nailed the
ogress in her golden breastplate.
There was a loud clang, and Gress staggered backward, a big
dent in her armor and an expression of fresh shock on her face.
In a flash, Braddock unslung the Henry and brought it to his
shoulder.
“What is the meaning of this?” Gress demanded, lowering her
sword. “I offer you the unparalleled opportunity to couple with a
princess only to be threatened by your guards and kicked by your
beast?”
“My apologies, princess. My horse and guards interpret sudden
movements as threats.”
 “Threats?” Gress laughed. “If I had wanted to do you harm, you
and the horse and guards would all be dead now.”
“On that note,” Braddock said, “I reckon it’s time you go.”
“Go?” Gress said, staring at him in disbelief.
“Yes,” Braddock said. “I thank you for offering your… gift. But I
politely decline. So you go on ahead, and good luck with your
vengeance.”
Gress threw herself to the ground and sobbed, “No, Meadow
Master! Please have mercy on me! Please seed me, and I promise I
will never trouble you again. I will leave as soon as you are finished,
and then, once I overthrow my wicked sister, I will send you a
wagonload of gems and gold and fine jewelry.”
“The answer is no.”
“Please, Meadow Master! You’re my only hope! I must avenge my
mother and save my people from my sister!”
“You have my answer, Gress. And for your information, bonding
doesn’t work that way. You couldn’t bond with me, march off, and
get on with your life. Bonding is more than breeding and power
boosts. It draws my women and me together, blurs us together, and
makes us part of each other and part of the meadow.”
Gress blinked at him. “I could come back.”
Braddock shook his head. “You got bigger fish to fry back at your
valley. Meanwhile, my people and I have our hands full building a
town here. You go on ahead, and good luck to you.”
“Wait, Meadow Master,” Gress cried desperately, dropping her
sword and clasping her big hands together, kneeling there in total
supplication. “Don’t exile me! Please let me stay!”
“Why?”
“Because I have nowhere else to go,” she sobbed. “Please,
Meadow Master, have mercy on me!”
Braddock thought on it for a second. On one hand, Gress was an
obvious liability, a ten-foot-tall shaman-warrior with a temper. If she
was willing to kill her own sister and father, she was capable of
killing anyone.
But on the other hand, if what she said was true, he could
understand why she wanted to kill her sister. And maybe even her
father, though he’d need to know more about what had happened
before saying for sure.
And he did want to know more about her father. Who was the
Sky Baron? How long had he been on Tardoon? How powerful was
this airplane of his? What could Braddock learn from the man?
Braddock would never know if he exiled Gress now.
Besides, she was clearly a powerful warrior. If she controlled that
temper of hers, she would be a valuable asset, a deadly defender of
the meadow.
“If I allow you to stay, Gress, do you promise not to harm the
citizens of Wrangler City?”
“Yes, Meadow Master.”
“And to treat them with respect?”
The ogress bit her lip. “I will try, Meadow Master.”
“You’ll have to do more than try.”
“I will, Meadow Master. I will treat them with respect. It’s just, in
all honesty, this will be a big change for me. I suspect it will take me
some time to adapt my behavior. But I will. I promise I will.”
“Fair enough. And you will follow my commands?”
“Yes, Meadow Master,” Gress said, a glimmer of hope returning to
her eye. “And in time, maybe you will—”
“No,” Braddock said. “Don’t stay if you’re staying for that. I’m not
prone to changing my mind.”
She nodded.
He said, “And will you follow the commands of my women?”
Gress stared at him with a pained expression. “Yes, Meadow
Master, if it is your will.”
“If I allow you to stay, how will you serve?”
“I will defend your domain, Meadow Master.”
“Everyone helps to defend the meadow. What I’m asking is what
will do with the rest of your time? What sort of work? We all work
here.”
“I… I don’t know, Meadow Master. I am a princess, not a
peasant. I’ve never done manual labor.”
“Well, if you want to stay, we’ll change that… starting today.” He
hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I got a bunch of fields that need
plowing.”
For a long moment, Gress stared at him with desperate eyes,
clearly warring within herself. Then, dropping her head, she said,
“Yes, Meadow Master.”
 4

Braddock rode past Cascadia’s watering holes, around which herds

grazed and lazed, enjoying the warmth of the bright sun overhead.
He cut through new, freshly irrigated fields, where crops would soon
rise from the magically warmed soil, and orchards of fruit trees Philia
had hastened to maturity, where bunny folk toting baskets of apples,
pears, and sweet Tardoonian knuckle fruit called out cheerily to their
Meadow Master.
He skirted Tilly’s sprawling vineyard, at the center of which stood
the bustling hub of the lovely vine sprite’s wine operation, where two
dozen workers toiled happily, bringing the meadow closer and closer
to financial security.
Thanks to the workers, facility, and the power Tilly had gained
from Braddock’s bonding with Cascadia, the vine sprite was far
ahead of schedule. Vembio’s wine would be ready any day. After
that, they would be able to fill orders far faster in greater quantity
than expected.
When he rode past the halflings and their half-dug burrows, the
red-cheeked fellows let out a happy cheer, and Doal lifted a big,
stony hand in greeting.
Braddock waved back, happy to have his gigantic friend above
ground again.
From this point, he traveled upon roads of packed dirt, gravel,
and enough paving stones to allow wagons easy passage even in
rainy weather.
 Nearing Esper’s massive mess hall, he drew his lungs full of the
magical smells drifting from her enormous kitchen across the
meadow. His stomach growled in response.
A team of rat folk hailed him from atop a wagon loaded with
building stone.
Glancing in that direction, Braddock laughed aloud.
As usual, Cascadia was full of surprises.
He rode toward her.
Cascadia sang her lovely songs, entertaining the masons who
had already laid the first few courses of a circular stone fountain.
Though she clothed herself among the citizens, she did so as
minimally as possible. Today, she wore only a tiny strip of cloth
Caitlin called a Brazilian bikini bottom and a clamshell brassiere held
together with nearly invisible spider-silk lashings.
Everything else was luscious blue perfection.
Cascadia sat within the partially finished fountain at the center of
the cylinder of water that would fill the structure once it was
finished. For now, the water shimmered inches from the work-in-
progress, retained not by stone but the magic of the powerful water
nymph.
Seeing Braddock, Cascadia beamed with affection and shifted her
song. “When a lonely nymph… was splashing in her pool, Man fell
from the sky… and made her a fool, For when he spoke to her… she
surrendered her heart, He promised her kisses… but they were split
apart.”
Grinning, Braddock dismounted and walked over. Nodding toward
the suspended cylinder of water that Cascadia could easily have left
beneath the ground until the fountain was finished, he said, “You
showing off again, darlin?”
The masons laughed.
Cascadia merely shrugged and kept singing. “Save my kisses, Jed
Braddock… A lifetime of kisses, my love.”
Braddock reached out and took her hand and drew her into his
arms and gave his beautiful, blue wife a deep kiss. As always when
their lips met, his mind swirled, and images of underwater bliss
wavered to life, complete with a passel of cheery daughters waving
from the future.
Some of those daughters were already quickening in Cascadia’s
womb, and Braddock couldn’t be happier about it.
The portion of his mind that remained in this world was aware of
Cascadia’s cylinder of water erupting overhead in a fountain that
sprayed high into the air in a crystalline expression of the nymph’s
elation.
The masons hollered as spray rained down on their uncured
mortar.
“Oops! Sorry!” Cascadia apologized, and set to sucking the
excess water back into the central cylinder, which had collapsed back
into itself.
“I’ll see you later, darlin. I gotta talk to Philia,” Braddock said,
using the trick she’d taught him to wick the moisture from his own
clothing. “Fountain’s looking good, men.”
“I’ll be pining away until our lips meet again, my love!” Cascadia
called after him, then set again to singing.
Nearing the enclosure, he called out to Chundra, who sat in his
cage behind the ballista, guarding the main garden bed, which was
overflowing with fresh produce and the original herd of cattle, who
grazed nearby. On Chundra’s lap sat Tikka, his girlfriend and
reloader.
Having recently returned to the region, the roc had in the last
week taken a sheep and two pigs from the meadow.
No one had seen the monstrous bird for a few days, not since
Chundra had grazed one of its feathery legs with his ballista. The
injured roc had given a wild scream and attacked Chundra and
Pikka, but the cage kept them safe, and a moment later, the citizens
of Wrangler City charged as one, roaring mightily, armed with spears
and bows.
Taking measure of the determined little army, the roc had beaten
its massive wings and soared off into the vast western valley.
Just thinking of this made Braddock cast a wary glance skyward.
All was clear. Still, he would be happy when the sixth and seventh
handmaidens joined the meadow and Philia could surround their
home in a defensive dome.
As Braddock was riding past the big, new schoolhouse, its door
swung open, and the striking red-haired schoolteacher, Elizabeth
O’Boyle, stepped into view and lifted a hand. “Mr. Braddock, a
moment please, sir.”
Through the open door behind Elizabeth, Braddock could see kids
of various races working busily at their desks. He also caught a
glimpse of plum-colored hair. That would be Lala, once again helping
Elizabeth with her students. Apparently, the show sprite had
breathed new life into many of the classroom lessons.
Every time Braddock saw the children of Wrangler City at their
studies, he felt deeply happy, knowing they were getting a real
education. It was such a rare thing, especially on the frontier. They
nearly filled the new, expanded schoolhouse.
Noticing Elizabeth’s dress, Braddock eased the mustang closer.
Spinner must have altered the garment. Elizabeth’s dress no
longer covered her throat. It now ended at her neckline with only a
short collar of black lace, and she had left the top button undone.
Taking a closer look, he noticed that she looked even nicer than
usual. She was practically shining.
They had come to Tardoon together, and he had been smitten
with the lovely schoolteacher since he first laid eyes on her. They
had come close to starting a romantic relationship, but something
always got in the way. For a long time now, he had been doing his
best to suppress his attraction to this gorgeous, intelligent,
hardworking woman.
But he couldn’t let her change in appearance go unnoticed. He
might not understand women, but he knew there was a fine line
between the offenses of giving unwanted attention and giving none
at all.
He tipped his hat. “My, Elizabeth, you sure do look nice today.”
Elizabeth blushed deep red. “Thank you, Mr. Braddock. That is
very kind of you to say.”
Anticipating Elizabeth’s usual request, Braddock headed her off at
the pass. “Sorry, darlin. I can’t build another schoolhouse yet. I’ll get
you more desks soon, but right now, we got more pressing business
than building an even bigger schoolhouse.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You are correct in thinking we need an
additional schoolhouse, Mr. Braddock, and I thank you for promising
to build it as soon as possible.”
Braddock grinned. Wasn’t that just like Elizabeth? Twisting his
words to her benefit?
She continued, “That was not, however, my reason for stopping
you. I wish to talk to you about another matter. A… private matter.”
“Oh?” He reined up beside her.
Elizabeth hesitated for a second, taking in his clothes, but made
no comment. By this time, she was no stranger to blood or
Braddock.
“I merely wished to give you this,” she said, extending a gilded
envelope that read Mr. Jedediah Braddock in artful, feminine
handwriting.
Taking it between his bloody fingers, Braddock smiled. “Well,
Miss O’Boyle, what do we have here? This is downright fancy. Are
you inviting me to a dinner party?”
“Wait,” Elizabeth said, laying a hand atop his, her face suddenly
tight with apprehension. Her bright blue eyes shifted side to side,
clearly checking to see if anyone had witnessed the exchange.
Completely unknown to Elizabeth, children behind her watched,
grinning and whispering. “If you would, Mr. Braddock, please
mention this letter to no one and refrain from opening it until you
have a private moment.”
“No problem, darlin.” He started to tuck it in his shirt pocket but
frowned when he saw the bloody thumbprint smudged across the
delicate calligraphy. “Aw shucks. See what comes of handing a man
like me some of your fine stationery?”
Elizabeth was already retreating into the school and closing the
door behind her.
Braddock heard the children giggling. Then Elizabeth spoke
sharply, and they fell silent.
The children loved Elizabeth, of course, and more importantly,
they respected her and obeyed her every command. There can be
no education without respect.
Braddock grunted, tucked the envelope into his pocket, and rode
on.
Reaching the enclosure, he dismounted, leaving the buckskin to
graze outside, and went inside. Approaching his home, he smiled up
at the skull of the woolly dragon, remembering the hard fight and
the way his wives had surprised him by mounting the skull during his
trip to Black Harbor.
How I love these women.
When Braddock entered his cabin, Philia was telling Spinner,
“Make her a beautiful dress, a dress befitting a handmaiden on a
diplomatic journey.”
Hovering nearby, Binti chimed, “Thank you, Meadow Mother! Oh,
hey there, Master!”
The two handmaidens flew to Braddock and showered him with
kisses. Spinner gave his crotch a squeeze, then frowned at the dark
goblin blood.
“You’ve covered your clothing in gore again, Master!” Spinner
lamented. “I’m beginning to suspect you take for granted the clothes
I make and mend for you.”
“Not true, darlin. Next time, I’ll tell them to spray their blood in
the other direction, okay?”
“Yuck, Master!” Binti complained. “You smell like a dead goblin!”
“Several dead goblins, actually,” Braddock said and leaned over to
kiss Philia, who sat hugging her swollen belly.
“Welcome home, husband. I sensed the goblins just beyond the
wall. And then, I no longer sensed them.”
“Well, they’re still there. Standing watch, I guess you could say.”
He explained quickly what had happened, wrapping up with his
question. “Who goes by His Dominance, the Great and Terrible?”
“Hmm. Hard to say,” Philia said. “It’s a title I’m not familiar with.”
“And one I hope to stay unfamiliar with!” Spinner said, and a
shudder racked her curvy little body.
Philia said, “I don’t believe it’s a wood elf. They are indeed
dominant, great, and extremely terrible, but they hate goblins, and I
have never heard of them employing mercenaries. Besides, wood
elves are too subtle to use such a long, overt moniker.”
Braddock nodded. His wives had told him a good deal about
wood elves, who sounded very little like the elves of Black Harbor
and more like the Sioux back home: consummate woodsmen, expert
horsemen, and fierce warriors, trained from birth to remain stoic in
the face of pain and want. Unless they were on the warpath—that
was his terminology, not Philia’s—the reclusive wood elves were
seldom seen at all.
“That name sounds like a centaur to me,” Binti said with
narrowed eyes. “If so, you should kill him, Master.”
Braddock shrugged. “Well, if he keeps snooping around, I might
have to, whether he’s a centaur or not.”
“Spinner, before you begin Binti’s dress,” Philia said, “visit the
worksites and inquire about His Dominance, the Great and Terrible.
Maybe some of our citizens can solve this riddle.” “Yes, Meadow
Mother.” Spinner curtsied and flew out the door.
“Alone at last!” Binti said. The tiny taming sprite cracked her
knuckles and seized Braddock’s belt buckle. “I thought Spinner
would never take the hint. Now that you have your two favorite
women alone, you can finally ravage us, Master!”
“Very funny, darlin,” he said, blocking her from undoing his belt
and starting something he didn’t have time for at the moment.
“Now, what’s all this nonsense about a handmaiden on a diplomatic
mission? You aren’t fixing to send Binti to Hortensia, I hope.”
Down in the canyon, the green shield still encased Hortensia’s
meadow. Of late, his sprite wives speculated frequently of how
miserable their former meadow sisters must be, quarantined
beneath the shield while the outside world hurtled toward spring.
“No, of course not, husband,” Philia said. “If I sent Binti to my
former meadow, Hortensia would have her wings. But with the
summer court rapidly approaching, I must recruit my sixth and
seventh handmaidens. Doing so is our only hope at survival.”
“All right. Where are you sending Binti?”
“Home!” Binti chirped. “Back to the Fernlands! I can’t wait to see
everybody’s faces when I zoom into the meadow. My former
Meadow Mother is going to look like she swallowed a gnat! But she
is kind and will be happy for me. Oh, I can’t wait till I see my old
meadow sisters! Especially the ones who laughed at me. I can’t wait
to rub their noses in my handmaiden status!”
“Now Binti,” Philia said. “You must remember the purpose of your
visit. You are on a mission to get handmaidens… not the last laugh.”
“I know, Meadow Mother. I will recruit sprites for Master to bang.
No problem! The Fernlands are packed with horny sprites.”
“Hold on, ladies,” Braddock said. “How far is it to the Fernlands?”
“A long way, Master.”
“Several hundred miles, at least,” Philia said.
“But it’s okay,” Binti said. “I can fly, remember?”
“So can a lot of other creatures,” Braddock pointed out. “Like
hawks and owls.”
Binti laughed. “I’m a taming sprite!”
“And what of hostile fae?”
Binti blew a raspberry. “Fae, shmay--I’ll be fine, Master. I’m
quick! Besides, if they try to catch me, I’ll show them a bit of the old
razzle dazzle.” She demonstrated, zipping into the air and whipping
back and forth before zooming ahead… and clanging headfirst into a
hanging frying pan.
Grounded, the silly little taming sprite rubbed her head. “Ow. I
zigged when I should’ve zagged.”
“My point exactly,” Braddock said. “It’s too dangerous, darlin.”
“Husband, we need Binti to go. I suspect that Hortensia will
maintain the green shield until we report to the summer court. Binti
is our best chance at locating our missing handmaidens. She may
even be our only chance.”
“Well, she can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous,” Braddock said. “I
will go with her.”
“Hooray!” Binti shouted, zooming into the air again.
The next thing Braddock knew, Binti was in his arms, smiling
slyly and batting her long lashes at him. “Master, it will be our
honeymoon!”
“Shrike will go, too,” Shrike said, suddenly appearing beside
them.
 It was all Braddock could do not to jump. Both sprites yodeled
with surprise.
In all his years, Braddock had never known anyone stealthier
than the white-plumed huntress. She was so quiet, she made
Apaches seem like carnival barkers.
He laid a hand on her feathery shoulder. “No, darlin. I need you
to protect the meadow. With the herds returning, hunters will soon
follow. You have to keep an eye out for predators.”
Shrike offered a ghastly smile. “Shrike is a predator!” She gave a
squawk of raucous laughter, pleased to have once again employed a
joke.
“Be that as it may,” Braddock said, “you gotta stay here, darlin.
Someday soon, you’re going to have Baby. When the two of you go
into isolation, I want you close to home.”
Shrike bowed low and gave her feathers a shake of
acquiescence.
“Thing is,” Braddock said, “I can’t leave yet. There is too much to
do here. And flying to the Fernlands would take too long.”
“Life will only get busier as the weather warms, husband. For as
much as I hate to see you leave again, you must leave now, or I fear
it will be too late. It will be a long and grueling trip. Over a thousand
miles, there and back.”
Braddock grinned. “Not if we take a shortcut.”
The women looked briefly confused. Then Philia’s beautiful face,
which was already aglow with the unparalleled beauty of a mother-
to-be, lit with understanding. “Jazeen!”
Braddock nodded. “One of her portals would save us weeks,
maybe months, of travel and two passels of trouble.”
“That creepy sorceress will charge you an arm and a leg,
Master!” Binti blurted.
Or some other part of my anatomy, Braddock thought. He had no
idea what Jazeen had done with the vial of seed he’d sent through
the box to her, but she had refused to make the ammunition without
it.
Not that he had received any ammo yet.
That was kindly aggravating.
 “I fear it will be difficult to pull Jazeen away from her fascination
long enough to make you a portal,” Philia said.
“True,” Braddock said. The sorceress had been completely
obsessed with the mysterious woman in the gem. Day and night,
Jazeen worked on freeing the tiny, purple-robed woman from her
prison of gemstone and dragon magic.
“Meanwhile,” he said, “I just want her to hurry up and make me
some ammo.”
He still owed Jazeen a heap of gold for buying Caitlin’s freedom,
and he had promised to take the sorceress with him if he entered
the dungeon beneath his home, a thing he hoped never to do.
When he first heard of the Lost Treasure, he couldn’t help but
dream of its fabled riches. But now, having returned to the meadow,
he was far too pleased by the treasures above ground to risk them
for the treasures below.
Frequently, the dungeon door shuddered as some great, snuffling
creature brushed against it. Remembering how difficult it had been
to defeat one animated skeleton, he knew it would be stupid to open
that door… even if the Lost Treasure and its Ring of Dragon
Friendship were hidden somewhere deep beneath his home.
Because he didn’t need those things. Once the wine started
flowing, he would pay off his debts quickly. In a year’s time, he’d be
a wealthy man.
The door banged open, and as if summoned by his thought, Tilly
rushed in, smiling brightly, her tiny feet and ankles stained deep
purple.
“Meadow Mother! Meadow Master! Come with me! The wine is
ready!”
 5

Braddock and Caitlin stepped apart, bodies slick with sweat.

The brown-haired Earthgirl shuddered with exertion. She lifted
her head, gasping for air, and held the wooden training sword in
both hands overhead.
Braddock felt no fatigue, despite their long and spirited training
session. His body merely felt warm and good.
And seeing Caitlin stretching like that, he felt even warmer and
better.
The girl had an amazing body, and the clothing she had asked
Spinner to design put her assets on full display during these
sessions.
Caitlin’s sports bra hugged her incredible breasts tightly, making
her more comfortable when she jogged or trained. Currently, her
hard nipples were visible through the white fabric of the bra, which
left her toned abdomen bare.
The yoga pants clung to her like a thin sheen of black paint,
showing every curve of her shapely bottom and long, muscular legs.
Whoever Yoga was, Braddock reckoned they deserved a massive
statue in his or her honor. Yoga pants had officially joined bacon and
coffee as the finest things in the world.
But it wouldn’t do to just stand there staring, so he nodded
toward the wooden sword and said, “You’re cutting yourself.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes but adjusted her grip, removing her fingers
from the blunted edge of the wooden training sword.
 “Jed, you’re as bad as my dad. He must’ve told me a hundred
times every gun is loaded and every horse kicks.”
Braddock grinned. “Your daddy sounds like a smart man.”
“He was,” Caitlin said, slicing the air absentmindedly with her
sword. “He really was.”
Suddenly, she looked troubled.
“Oh my gosh,” she said. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said that.”
“Said what?”
“Was. I didn’t say Dad is a smart man, I said he was, like he’s
gone or something.”
“I don’t see where it matters so much.”
Caitlin nodded, her eyes going out of focus. “I guess not. It’s
just, I don’t know… it reflects a change… in me, I mean, in my
mindset.”
“Well, you’ve been here for a while. And you’re not exactly a
wilting flower, so you’re adapting. Nothing wrong with that. Besides,
what’s the alternative? Sit around weeping?”
Her eyes came back into focus and met his. “When I first came
here, all I wanted to do was get home. I mean, the centaurs
brought me here as a slave and kept me in a cage, so obviously I
wanted to go back to Earth, but even after you rescued me, my
main desire was to get home again. When did that change?”
Braddock looked at her. “I didn’t know it had.”
Caitlin nodded. “Yeah, it changed. I guess I didn’t even know it
had until this very moment. But yeah, what I want has changed.”
And suddenly, her red-brown eyes bored into his.
Braddock leaned his wooden sword against the tree under which
they trained. It was a good tree, standing all alone on this stretch of
meadow some distance from Wrangler City. The skeletal umbrella of
its broad canopy afforded them enough safety from the roc that they
could train without distraction.
Braddock picked up the wine skin from the ground, opened it,
and offered Caitlin a drink.
Grinning, Caitlin accepted.
Braddock watched with pleasure as Caitlin lifted the skin to her
lips, tilted her head back, and took a long pull, her throat working as
she swallowed.
“Oh,” she said, breaking off the drink and staring at the skin with
wide eyes. “Tilly’s wine is amazing.”
Braddock nodded. “I reckon it’s even better than her last batch.
By a spell.”
“It is,” Caitlin agreed and sneaked another sip before handing the
skin back to Braddock.
He took a slug and handed it back. “Yup, better than ever.
Vembio’s going to love it.”
“Tilly is amazing,” Caitlin said, taking another drink. “Woo… it’s
stronger, too. I mean, it doesn’t taste stronger, but it is. I already
feel it. Big time, in fact.”
“Me too,” Braddock confessed as he took another drink. The wine
warmed his whole body from head to toe, making him buzz not with
drunkenness but sharply alert happiness. And, as usual, he felt
rammier than an old goat in a herd full of young stuff.
In fact, his jeans suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.
Handing the skin back, he caught Caitlin staring at his crotch with
apparent interest. She jerked her eyes away and blushed.
“I’d better take it easy on this wine,” she laughed. “It makes me
feel a little… incautious.”
Braddock shrugged at that, accepted the wine, took another
drink, and handed her the skin again.
Caitlin grinned, mock-suspicious. “Are you trying to get me drunk,
Jed?”
Not understanding why that would be a bad thing, he shrugged.
“You want to get drunk, have at it. I know the way home.”
Caitlin took another pull, wiped her grin, and stared at him. “My
first impression of you was that you were a man.”
“I congratulate you on your keen skills of observation.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Pipe down, smarty pants. I
mean a real man. Not just a man-sized boy. Back in my world, my
time, I guess I should say, most males in their twenties, even some
in their thirties and forties, still seemed like boys to me.”
“Is that right?”
 Caitlin nodded. “It drove me nuts. A lot of guys acted nice all the
time. Not you, though. I could see that right away.”
Braddock laughed. “I’m not nice, huh?”
Caitlin echoed his laughter. “I don’t mean that, Jed. You’re nice.
You went deep into debt to save me from the centaurs. You always
put your people first and work hard to make sure they’re safe and
have what they need. You let me run reception and take time every
day to train me. You’re plenty nice.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Braddock joked. “I thought you were
fixing to brand me a curmudgeon.”
“No, but I like that you aren’t nice all the time.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, you’re only nice when you feel like it. You don’t go
around pretending to be nice all the time, as a default, I mean.”
“What would be the sense in that?”
Caitlin shrugged. “Guys did it, though. Maybe they thought they
were supposed to be nice? Pretty often, you could see them
choosing their words carefully, trying to seem all nice even when you
knew they didn’t feel like being nice. In fact, most of those guys,
once you got to know them, they seemed irritated all the time.
Unless they got their way. Then they were happy. Giddy, even. Like
kids.”
“Huh. That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, but it’s true.”
“Why, though? What was in it for them?”
Caitlin shrugged again. “Part of it was girls, I guess. They wanted
to manipulate girls, but they also wanted to come across as morally
superior, beyond reproach. They even had television shows starring
guys like this.”
She had explained television several times. It was a way to watch
and listen to people who weren’t really there. It sounded like it was
mostly a way for people to sell stuff.
“They had this one show where a bunch of guys all lived in the
same house, competing against each other, while some girl tried to
decide which one to marry.”
“Strange.”
 She laughed. “Very.”
“They must’ve fought all the time.”
“Not really. Mostly, they talked about their feelings and how
vulnerable they were.”
“You pulling my leg, darlin?”
“No,” she laughed. “It was a very popular show. And there was
another where a bunch of women lived in a house, vying for the
attention of a bachelor. You should’ve been on that show. You
probably would’ve married all of them!”
“I doubt it. I don’t reckon I’m cut out for your time.”
Caitlin shook her head. “No. Not at all. But these guys I’m talking
about, the ones I knew, I mean, not the ones on TV, I don’t think
most of them even knew why they were pretending to be nice and
all that. For the most part, I think they drank the Kool-Aid.”
“What’s Kool-Aid?”
Caitlin laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Point is, these guys felt
justified. But behind it all, they thought if they were nice to a girl all
the time, then she owed them, you know?”
Braddock shook his head. “I’m not following you, darlin.”
“Sex, I mean.”
“Oh.”
“Only I don’t think it worked for most guys. They just got all
pouty and mad if you denied them. Defensive, I guess. Like they had
paid their dues, being nice, so you owed them. Like a bunch of little
boys expecting Mommy to give them some candy if they were well
behaved.”
“Candy, huh?” Braddock laughed.
“I don’t know,” Caitlin said, shaking her head. She took another
drink, and her eyes again went out of focus for a few seconds. “It
was exhausting to interact with them.”
“I imagine so.”
“But as soon as I met you,” Caitlin said, “I knew you were
different. I knew you wouldn’t fake being nice or anything else.”
“I’ve never been much for playacting.”
Caitlin smiled. “I know. And I love that. It’s so refreshing. You say
what you mean, keep things simple, and do what you want. You
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Edwin, the
young rabbit fancier, and other stories
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
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Title: Edwin, the young rabbit fancier, and other stories

Author: Anonymous

Release date: September 18, 2023 [eBook #71676]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Crosby and Ainsworth, 1866

Credits: Bob Taylor, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file
was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDWIN, THE

YOUNG RABBIT FANCIER, AND OTHER STORIES ***
THE RABBIT
 EDWIN,
THE
YOUNG RABBIT
FANCIER,
AND
OTHER STORIES.

BOSTON:
CROSBY & AINSWORTH.
NEW YORK: OLIVER S. FELT.
1866.
 STORIES.

EDWIN, THE YOUNG RABBIT FANCIER.

DWIN was a very tender-hearted boy, and very eager
about a thing when he took it into his head; but his
enthusiasm very often left him just at the time it ought to
have remained with him. Thus he never pursued any
study or amusement for any length of time with profit to
himself, and often fell into very grievous errors.
 “Oh! dear mama,” said he one day to his mother. “I do so much
wish that I had something for a pet; there is Charles Jones has a
sweet little bird, and cousin James has a squirrel. I should so like
something for a pet. Do, mama, buy me something—a Guinea pig,
or a couple of pigeons, or a rabbit. Oh! I saw such a beautiful white
rabbit yesterday.
“Ay, my dear,” said his mama, “I am afraid you would soon grow
tired of your rabbit, as you did of your gun, and bow and arrow, and
ship, and rocking-horse.”
“Oh! but a rabbit is quite different, mama; you can love a rabbit,
you know, and coax it, and feed it, and make it happy. I should go
out early in the morning, and pick some nice clover for it, and some
thistle, and dandelion, and marsh mallows. I know how to feed
rabbits—I have learned all about it. I must not give them too much
green stuff, but some nice bran and oats; and then I could make a
little trough for it to eat from, you know; and—and—”
“I am sure, my dear, it would be too much trouble to you; rabbits
require a great deal of care and attention, and you so soon get tired
of any thing you take up, that I fear it would soon suffer from
neglect.”
“I am sure I should never neglect it, mama; and if you will give me
a shilling, I can buy a beauty—a real white French rabbit, with red
eyes, and a coat like swansdown. Do, mama, give me a shilling.”
“No, my dear,” said she, “I really must refuse you.”
Now, although Edwin was a little boy, he said to himself, “I know it
is only because mama wished to save her money; ’tis not because
she really thinks I shall neglect the rabbit, but because she does not
like to part with her money.” He thought himself very cunning? did he
not?
So Edwin began to pout and whine, and to tease his mama, being
determined to let her have no peace. “You know, mama,” said he, “I
shall be so fond of it; I will make it a house, and then I could cut
down some grass, and dry it, and make hay for it to lie upon; and I
could sow some oats for it in my garden; I should not want any thing
else to amuse me all the year round.”
Whether to humor Edwin or to teach him a lesson, I will not say,
but his mama gave him a shilling, and off he ran, and purchased the
milk-white, red-eyed rabbit he had so longed for.
Joyful enough was he when he brought it home; he paraded it
round the house, showed it to every member of the family,
housemaid, laundrymaid, footman, and cook, and every body
praised the rabbit, as the most beautiful creature they had ever seen.
The next morning Edwin rose by times, and began to look for
wood to build his rabbit house. He procured saw, nails, and hammer;
and at last found some old planks, and began to saw them, and cut
them, and chisel and plane, till his little arms ached again.
He had soon cut two or three pieces of board up, but to no
purpose; one was too short, another too long, a third had a knot in it,
and a fourth was spoiled in splitting. Vexed with his want of success,
Edwin said, “I shall not make him a house to-night—he must be
contented with being fastened in the coal-hole to-night, where he will
have room plenty.”
So bunny was put into the coal-hole, with a handful of cabbage-
leaves, and told to make himself happy till morning, and as it
happened to be election night, Edward went to amuse himself by
making bonfires.
In the morning Edwin went to the coal-hole to look after bunny.
There it was sure enough, but, instead of its being a beautiful white
rabbit—by hopping about among the coals—it had become almost
as black as the coals themselves.
“Well, I never!” said the little boy—“what a dirty little thing it is”, and
so he tried to catch it; but bunny not liking to be caught, led the
youngster a fine dance in the coal-hole, and at last he fell over a
large lump of coal, and dirtied his clean frill and white pinafore.
It was difficult to say which was the dirtiest of the two, Edwin or the
rabbit. The little boy, however, being quite out of patience, made no
further effort, but shut the coal-hole door, and in great terror ran to
the nursery-maid to put him into cleaner trim. He did not go again
into the place where the rabbit was that day, and so the poor thing
was kept without food, for Edward totally forgot that he had not fed
his pet.
However, the next day he again repaired to the place, and having
caught bunny, took it into the stable-yard, and put it into an
unoccupied pig-sty. The first intention of making a house was quite
given up, and Edwin began to think his rabbit was a great plague;
he, however, gave it some more cabbage leaves, and left it.

The fact was, Edwin was getting tired of his rabbit; he, however,
bought it a few oats, and gave it a little hay. He went out for a few
mornings and gathered a little clover, but in less than a week this
was thought to be a great deal of trouble; besides which, the rabbit
seemed lame, and did not look so pretty as it did at first.
At last Edwin quite forgot his rabbit for two days, and when he
went to look at it he was quite surprised to find it lying on its side. He
called, bunny, bunny. The poor thing looked at him, and seemed
pleased to see him, for its long ears moved as if it was.
Edwin took it up; it seemed to have lost the use of its hind legs; it
squeaked when it was touched; and so the little boy laid it down
again. He felt it all over—it was very thin, and seemed half starved.
Edwin now ran and got a saucer full of oats, and placed it beside
the poor thing; he also ran to the next field, and plucked some nice
sow thistle, and gave it to eat. Bunny looked grateful, and tried to
eat, but could not.
Edwin, in placing his hand down by its side, felt the beatings of its
heart; it went beat, beat, beat—throb, throb, throb, quicker than a
watch; and every now and then its head twitched, and the skin of its
jaw drew up, as if it were in great pain.
And yet the poor animal seemed glad to have some one by its
side, and rubbed its nose against Edwin’s hand; and then it panted
again, and its eyes grew dim; it was dying; Edwin now began to cry.
“Oh! my poor dear, dear, dear, bunny,” said he, “what shall I do to
make you well?—oh! what would I give? Oh! I have killed you, for I
know I have. Oh! my poor, dear bunny—let me kiss you, dear
bunny”—Here the little fellow stooped down to kiss the rabbit. Just at
that moment it gave a struggle—in the next it was dead.
Edwin’s eyes were full of tears, and when he could see through
them, and found out what had happened, he broke out into loud sobs
and cries, till he roused the whole house. “Oh! my dear rabbit—oh! I
have killed my rabbit—oh! what shall I do?” he uttered, in deepest
grief.
“Ay,” said his mama, who was called to the spot by his outcries, “I
feared it would be thus:—who would think a house-bred rabbit could
live in a damp pig-sty? The poor thing has been destroyed by
neglect.”
“Oh, yes, dear mama, do not scold me; I know I have been very
naughty. Oh, I do love my dear rabbit; I love it more now it is dead
than I did when it was alive; but is it really dead, mama! no, is it? it is
quite warm, and may get well again,—say it will, there’s a dear, dear
mother,” and then he cried again.
The rabbit was, however, dead; and had caught its death in the
way Edwin’s mama supposed, by being ill fed and kept in a damp
place, by thoughtless, if not cruel, neglect.
Edwin was overcome with grief,—but it was now too late, sad was
that night to him, for something told him that he had been cruel to
that he had promised to love. He got no sleep; and early in the
morning he arose, and went to the place where his pet was laid.
He wept all the next day; and, in the evening, he dug a grave in his
own little garden, close by the side of a young rose tree. Then he
wrapped the body in some nice hay, and laid it in its narrow cell, and
placed rose leaves upon it, and covered it gently with the earth; and
his heart was like to burst when he heaped the mound upon it,—and
he was forced to pause in his task by the full gushing of his tears.
“My child,” said his mama, who watched him at his sorrowful task,
“if you had taken half the trouble for bunny, when alive, as you do
now he is dead, he would have been alive now.”
“Yes, yes, dear mama,—I know—I know; but do tell me, pray do—
will not rabbits go to heaven? Is there not some place where they
can be happy? I hope my poor bunny may!” and here the little fellow
sobbed again.
“Give me a kiss, my dear boy,” said his mama; come leave this
spot: and so she gently led him away from the rabbit’s grave.
 JULIA MARTIN.
N many of the little coves and bays on the coast of
Cornwall, small villages may be found—the dwellings of
fishermen, their wives, and families. Here, perhaps, they
have lived from the time they were born, without a
thought or a wish, as far as the land is concerned,
beyond the narrow place in which they dwell. The sea is the great
object of their cares, for it contains the means by which they live. By
the fish which they catch in it, they are provided with meat, drink, and
lodging: and too often is the sea their grave. The poor men lead a
hard and anxious life in their fishing pursuits; and are often tempted
to risk their lives, rather than give up a chance, when a favorable
shoal of fish may be expected. The women mostly spend their time
in making and mending nets, and drying and salting the fish. Even
the children may be always found employed about fish in some way
or other. The very young make playthings of the bones; those about
ten or eleven assist their mothers in curing fish; and all, both old and
young, feed, with a relish never lost, on the finny tribe. It is a pretty
sight, on a fine sunny day, to see the seine, or net, drawn in on the
white pebbly beach: it contains, perhaps, many hundreds of fishes,
tinted with all the colors of the rainbow. The various families to whom
the net belongs crowd down to the shore for their share of the fish;
for, as the net costs a great deal of money, the price is divided,
perhaps, between half a dozen owners. During the winter season,
should there have been any failure in the fishing, great hardships are
sometimes felt by these poor people. The stock of salt fish is done;
potatoes are dear, and money to buy bread is but scarce. The
patience and self-denial shown under such privations is truly to be
admired, and might furnish a useful lesson to those whom it had
pleased God to provide, at all seasons, with every thing that can
make life pleasant; and who are too apt to complain if some of the
lesser means of their enjoyment are cut off by a hard winter season.
 THE FISHERMEN.
Rosecreay, one of the fishing villages we have been describing,
was fortunate, during a very severe winter, in having near it a very
charitable lady, who had taken a house which for many years had
been without an inmate.
Why she remained in a cold and bleak spot, so far from London,
from whence she came, her friends often wondered; and her
daughter Julia, when she heard the wind coming in great gusts up
the valley, or the rain beating against the windows, as if it insisted on
coming in, would wish she was back again in the pretty house at
Kensington. Mrs. Martin was not poor, but she was not rich, and she
had taken the old house for three years, because the rent was very
low; her own house in town she had let, and the change was made
that her only son, Frederic, might study as a painter. How many
mothers thus deny themselves comforts, that they may save money
for those dearer to them than their own lives! How few meet with any
reward for their self-denial! Mrs. Martin was constant in her visits to
the families of the fishermen; gave them tracts to read; made clothes
for the poor children; and was always ready, in time of illness, with
medicine for the sick, and soup for those getting better. She also
tried to teach them cleaner habits; but in this she failed. Julia soon
got tired of going with her mother to see people who persisted in
having such bad smells in and about their houses, wondering, at the
same time, that, with water so near, the village was not kept cleaner;
to which an old woman would sometimes reply, that fish never smell
ill to them. One stormy day in January, Mrs. Martin and Julia sat at
the window watching the huge waves that came tumbling in, with, as
Julia said, “great white caps on their heads.” The fine weather of
yesterday, said Mrs. Martin, I hear, has tempted poor John Penman
to go out fishing, in spite of his having hardly got rid of the fever he
has so long had. I am afraid that as he knew that Frederic is coming
we should like some fish to-day. The weather changed so suddenly
in the night, that I feel quite anxious lest he should have been lost.
Mrs. Martin’s fears were too well founded, for John Penman, his
eldest son, and another lad, never saw their homes again: the boat
had been lost during the heavy gale, and all on board had perished.
How dreadful! said Julia. I wish we did not live where we were
always hearing and seeing such disagreeable things. We must not,
my dear Julia, said her mother, indulge in such selfish feelings; let us
rather think what we can do for the poor widow and her orphans,
whether it is disagreeable or not. The next morning, though it was
still stormy, Mrs. Martin set out for the cottage of Mrs. Penman; and
as Julia thought it was too cold to venture out, she was spared the
sad scene that was seen by Mrs. Martin. The children were crying
round the bed of their poor mother, where she lay in too much grief
to attend to the kindness of the neighbors, who crowded round trying
to comfort her.
The room was small and dirty, with but little furniture in it; but
strange to say, on one side of it hung an old circular painting, and
though it was nearly black with smoke, Mrs. Martin could see it was
no common picture. With the hope that it might prove of some use to
the poor woman, she got the eldest boy to carry it to her house,
sending back by him a basket laden with food for his desolate home.
Frederic had arrived in due time the night before, and his mother
now begged him to look at the old painting. Although he had not long
been an artist, he at once saw that it had been painted by a skilful
hand. While cleaning it from the smoke and dirt, they found the name
of the painter and of the lady on the canvas. On inquiry, they also
found that John Penman’s father had saved the picture from a great
house, which had been burnt to the ground many years ago. Mrs.
Martin wrote to the family to whom the painting had once belonged,
and they were glad to pay the poor woman, to her great surprise and
joy, a handsome sum of money for it. She was then able to buy a
share in a net, which her husband had always been too poor to do,
and by it was enabled to bring up her family in the humble way to
which they had always been accustomed.
Ah! mother, said Julia, what good you have been able to do from
always thinking of other people rather than yourself. I will never
grumble again at the smells of the fishing village, but try, if I can, to
be as useful there as you have been; and Julia, in spite of the cold
and bleak winter, well kept her promise.
SUMMER
 THE HAYMAKERS.
HE haymakers are working blithely, tossing about the
grass, and talking and laughing right merrily. This is a
holiday, both for old and young. Many who are
employed in manufactures, with their wives and
children, obtain leave to work in the fields when hands
are scarce; and doing so seems like a new life to them. You may see
at the further end, hillocks of grass thrown up in long rows; the
haymakers call them wind-cocks; they are piled light and high, that
the wind may blow through them; but in this part of the field people
are tossing the hay about. Gray-headed old men are here, aged
women, and children, seemingly without number. Their parents are
hard at work and very glad are they to put the “wee things” in safe
keeping among the old folks, who yet can help a little. Look at those
girls and boys at play—see how they pelt one another with the hay,
and roll each other over upon the grass—these are happy days. See
those youngsters, scarcely able to totter, how they tumble on the
sweet, fresh grass; while those who have strength to handle the rake
mimic the labors of their parents, and draw tiny loads along the
greensward. Meanwhile the hay is thrown about, and with each
returning day comes the same pleasant labor, till the creaking of a
wagon, lumbering up the hollow-road from the old farm-house, half
way down the hill, gives the signal, which tells that the haymaking
season is about to close. A short time elapses, and the creak of the
heavy laden wagon is heard ringing over the stones. It comes up
again for another load, then lumbers back to the old farm, where
laborers are busily employed in placing the hay upon a strong
foundation of wattled boughs. Some tread down the hay; others
throw it up from out the wagon; till at length loud huzzas, that wake
up all the neighboring echoes, announce that all the hay-stacks are
completed.