The Village of Hide and Seek by Bingham Wilson

On a bright sunny day in the middle of the month of August, a merry group of gaily dressed children were romping upon the green lawn of a country place, that, from its well kept and cleanly surroundings, could not have been mistaken for any other than the home of some prosperous and perhaps retired gentleman of wealth and refinement. The old-fashioned stone house, with its wide porch and heavily carved wooden columns green-coated with climbing ivy, rose amid the stately trees of the lawn, until it seemed lost in a bower of shadowy foliage. The low, thatch-roofed out-buildings and long lines of far-reaching fence, carefully coated with fresh whitewash, stood glistening in the sunlight, quite in harmony with the polished marble window sills of the great stone mansion. Standing in the very centre of the scene, like some still lingering remnant of the long gone and almost forgotten past, arose the tall, rustic arm of an old-fashioned well-sweep, that raised or lowered a moss-covered, old oaken bucket, filled to overflowing and dripping wet with cool, clear water, not unfrequently visited by this gamboling group of merry children both during and after their play. As the children rested for a moment beneath the sheltering arms of an old oak tree, they were much surprised to behold the form of a wandering vagabond ambling along the dusty road. His hat was well drawn down over his eyes to avoid the glaring rays of the mid-day sun. Over his shoulder and made fast to the end of a crooked stick, that might have answered as well for a defence as for a staff, hung his sum total of earthly possessions, tied carefully into a small bundle and as carefully hid from view within the folds of a red bandanna handkerchief...