"OH dear! I do wish the postman would make haste and come," said Ellen Mansfield to herself, as she stood at the farmyard gate, looking eagerly up the narrow lane into which it opened. It was a bright July morning, and the sun was pouring its warm rays on her fair hair and rosy cheeks, as she waited bareheaded in the open air, having no fear of the effects of such exposure to its influence. She was so absorbed in her watch for the country letter-carrier, who was never very punctual to his time, as to give heed to naught besides. Wolf, the old sheep-dog, crept close to her side, and put his nose into her hand, but his mute expression of affection met with no response. The chickens gathered r…
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