TURNS OF FORTUNE. 29

I was cantering my pony down Swanbrook
Lane—the grass there is so soft and green, that
you cannot hear his feet, while I can hear
every grasshopper that chirps—suddenly, I
heard a child’s voice singing a tune full of
mirth, and I went softly, softly on; and there,
under a tree, sat one of my morning acquaint-
ances, making believe to sing through a stick,
while the other danced with bare feet, and her
very rags fluttered in time to the tune. They
looked pale and hungry, though a thick crust of
bread upon the grass proved that they were not
the latter; but I never saw more joy in well-
_ fed, well-clothed children, for they paused and
laughed, and then began again. Poverty was
no pain to them, at all events.”

‘“‘My dear,”’ said Sarah Bond, “ you forget
the crust of bread was their riches, for it wasa
superfluity.”

‘And is it not very shocking that in England
acrust of bread should be a superfluity,” in-
quired Mabel.

‘Very, dear; but a shilling was a great deal
to give at the gate,” observed her aunt, adding,
after a pause, “ and yet it shows how little will
make the poor happy. I am sure, if my father
had looked abroad, instead of staying at home
to watch his—his— money, he would have
thought it right to share what he had. It is an
unnatural thing to shut one’s self up from the
duties of life; one gets no interest for any other

GG