very fond of bird-catching and squirrel-hunting in
the woods, and had had some narrow escapes in his
time. One day he got his arm fast in the hollow
of an old apple-tree, where he had clambered in
quest of birds’ eggs; and old William the shepherd
had to ‘saw’ him out!
trouble in the woods with an owl, who caught
him getting down the tree where her young owlet
was snugly hidden away, and she buffeted him with
her wings and pecked him severely on the neck as
he ran away, stumbling along as best he could, with
his arms over his face to avoid the assault. Dicky
fought shy of that tree for a long time, I can tell you.
This morning, however, as he trudged along crunch-
ing the snow with his thick-soled boots, and making
tracks in the earth’s winding-sheet—sometimes whist-
ling to himself, and sometimes looking at his lesson-
book—a greater shock awaited him ; for, as he entered
the wood, he heard the faint howling of a dog. It
was not like any bark he had heard before; and
hurrying in the direction of the sound he soon came
to the chalk-pit, where, peeping cautiously over the
edge, he saw Fido standing by the prostrate and snow-
wreathed form of his dead mistress, now looking up
and howling piteously, then stopping to lick her dead
face. Terrified beyond measure, and yet scarcely
understanding the fearful accident, Dicky ran quickly
home’ again, and told with trembling lips what he had
seen.

Soon the farmer and some of his men were on the
spot, entering the pit by the lower edge of the slope.
They raised the cold and senseless body and carried
it to the farmhouse, followed by the faithful dog.

Ihave no more to say about old Peggy. She was
buried by the parish. What became of Fido I never
heard. The story isa true one. Little Dicky was
my own father, who has often told me the st tale.

_K.

 

 

WISHING AND WORKING.

¥ I were only a lady, now!’ sighed Marie Holmes,

‘how happy I should be playing the piano all day,
with pretty things about me, and every one speaking
softly, and no toilsome Miss Nash, with her nutmeg-
grater voice, and her endless “ young ladies!” Young
ladies, indeed! As if Kitty Hogg or Arabella Carver
could, by any possibility, be young ladies!’

‘Now, Marie! where are you blundering to?’
‘was the shout that disturbed Marie’s reverie on this
Bank Holiday. Exactly behind her were brother
Sam and Aunt Hodges, bound for the river. .

No, she would not go with them; she preferred
being alone and thinking, either on the shore, or in
some quiet corner in the ‘Gardens,’ as the prettily
planted acre of ground was called that the public
owned in Rockborough.

Alas! thinking meant too often murmuring with
fifteen-year old Marie; but still she indulged herself
in the hurtful pastime whenever she had time for it,
and was not hampered by the presence of the other
milliners’ girls, with whom her days were passed.

This August day was a grand occasion; and
dressed in her best, a nosegay of sweet flowers
in her hand, she hurried away from the crowd
of pleasure-seekers to enjoy her own reveries, Sam

Another time he got into |

 

 

 

grumbling to her aunt that Marie never would do
like the rest. :

‘ Let her be,’ said Aunt Hodges, ‘she’s not a bad
sort of a girl; and when the nonsense is out of her,
there’s good stuff behind.’

Aunt Hodges was an authority in the family, so
Sam groaned and said no more. He was fond of
Marie, and wished to be more with his favourite sister.

Rockborough was a large place, and at the same
moment on that August morning Miss Dorning was
taking a walk on the shore.

‘ Will you post this letter; please, Miss?’ called the
maid after her.

The young lady turned and took the note from
the servant, glad to have an occasion to go any-
where.

The holiday people all around her seemed so
happy in their unusual leisure, it made her en-.
vious.

‘Tf I were only a poor girl—a shell girl,’ said Miss
Dorning to_herself, ‘how I should enjoy this lovely
morning! But I am so unfortunate as to be born
of that class that have nothing.to do, and therefore -
never enjoy a holiday.. Heigho! we poor ladies are
much to be pitied!’

And on walked the girl, with her refined face and
graceful dress, a prey to useless regrets as much as
Marie Holmes.

There is seldom a Bank Holiday without an acci-
dent, especially in a seaport town; but this time it
was no excursionist who had come to grief, but Miss
Dorning, of Marina House, who, incautiously dreaming
along the shady path by the river bank, had lost her
footing and fallen in. In that swift tidal stream she
would have fared badly, had not a boat. been near,
and Sam Holmes, the rower, a strong, self-possessed.
lad, come to the rescue. i

Marie, sauntering home at mid-day, weary and
dispirited, found her bed occupied, and her mother

‘fussing and fuming round the pretty pale occupant.

That was an eventful afternoon. Such messages
passing between the Marina and Rosamond Terrace,
where the Holmes’ lived !

Marie was quite happy, petting the fair young
lady, and making her tea. She had only been terrified
—not drowned—in her late escapade; and Miss
Dorning, on her part, took a fancy to the dark-eyed
damsel, who worshipped so prettily at her shrine.

While fresh garments were sent for from the
Marina the two talked most contentedly, Miss
Dorning questioning, Marie answering. . Ina gush of
confidence Marie owned she wished to be a lady; and
Violet Dorning puzzled over at her own counter-
wishes, :

‘Is it naughty and discontented of me to think
such ‘things?’ asked the little milliner.

Violet paused.

‘Oh, Marie! [ am so naughty myself I am no
judge,’ she said in reply. ‘But Ido not think you
are wrong to wish to have leisure for your music.
You have a good touch, and sing very sweetly.’

Marie had fingered the poor worn piano in the
sitting-room at Miss Dorning’s request, and sung a
little ballad for her visitor. q :

Back at evening went Miss Dorning to her home,
full of thought.