"How much did the pitcher hold?" asked Sweet Fern.
"It did not hold quite a quart," answered the student; "but you might
keep pouring milk out of it, till you should fill a hogshead, if you
pleased. The truth is, it would run on forever, and not be dry even at
midsummer,--which is more than can be said of yonder rill, that goes
babbling down the hill-side."
"And what has become of the pitcher now?" inquired the little boy.
"It was broken, I am sorry to say, about twenty-five thousand years
ago," replied Cousin Eustace. "The people mended it as well as they
could, but, though it would hold milk pretty well, it was never
afterwards known to fill itself of its own accord. So, you see, it was
no better than any other cracked earthen pitcher."
"What a pity!" cried all the children at once.
The respectable dog Ben had accompanied the party, as did likewise a
half-grown Newfoundland puppy, who went by the name of Bruin, because
he was just as black as a bear. Ben, being elderly, and of very
circumspect habits, was respectfully requested, by Cousin Eustace, to
stay behind with the four little children, in order to keep them out
of mischief. As for black Bruin, who was himself nothing but a child,
the student thought it best to take him along, lest, in his rude play
with the other children, he should trip them up, and send them rolling
and tumbling down the hill. Advising Cowslip, Sweet Fern, Dandelion,
and Squash-Blossom to sit pretty still, in the spot where he left
them, the student, with Primrose and the elder children, began to
ascend, and were soon out of sight among the trees.
[Illustration]