BALCYON DAYS.
MIiss Forster to examine and admire. She had just
gathered a spray of that curious flower the herb Paris,
whose green cup resting on its cross of leaves had
surprised her, when she heard a breathing as of a
sleeper. She quietly crept in the direction of the
sound, and saw lying at the foot of a tree, on a perfect
bed of the pretty white flowers of the sweet woodruff,
a child not more than three years old. It seemed to
have sunk down there, overpowered by weariness; for
its tear-stained cheek, uncovered head, and one foot
shoeless and scratched, told of its having wandered
long about the wood, most probably trying to find its
way out. While she silently gazed at it, the child
awoke, and looking around half-bewildered, half-
frightened, began to cry.
 "'Me wants to go to my mammy," sobbed the
little one piteously.
 So you shall. Come with me, little girl," replied
Minnie, quite mbved by its tears, and taking her in
her arms. It was more of a burden than she had
ever before carried, but she contrived, notwithstanding
a few stumbles, to reach Miss Forster in safety. The
adventure related, they tried to discover from the
child who her mother was, but in vain. Her name
was Matty, she said, and she wanted her mammy.
Miss Forster therefore determined to take her to
the village, where there was no doubt she would be
speedily recognized. Carrying the little stranger, and
trying to stop her tears, they had nearly reached the
stile which divided the wood path from the straggling
village street, when they saw a lad coming towards
them, and the child screamed with delight.
 Oh, ma'am," cried the boy, as he reached them,
and the little one sprang into his arms, "where did
you find her ? Mother has been crying so about her I