IN WINTER LAND. 153

whatever to find you again. ‘he only thing that I have to say is
this: you shall have no bed in my house until you have cleaned that
pot.”

The tears gathered in Buttercup’s eyes; they rolled heavily down
his cheeks, making queer channels on his poor little face, which was
already smeared with blacking and dirt from the pots and pans which
he had cleaned.

“ Oh dear!” he murmured to himself. “I don’t think that awful
woman cares for anybody. Well, there is nothing for me to do but to
try and find some sand.”

He went towards the door of the house, and opening it very gently,
let himself out into the bitter frosty air.

He had never been out in such cold before, and he shivered all
over. What would he not have given for Primrose to pet and kiss
him ? What would he not have done to feel his mother’s arms about
him? But he was far away from all who cared for him—he was a
very lonely and miserable little boy, and he thought Mrs. Discipline
quite the cruellest person in the world.

“T’d rather be with the Green Lady,” he murmured to himself,
“or in the Country of the Dark Men. Id rather be anywhere
than with Mrs. Discipline; she’s the worst old woman I ever heard
Oe ae

“Come, come, are you finding that sand?” called a sharp voice
from the cottage door. “If you are not quick about it I shall be
obliged to lock up, and then you'll have no chance of getting into my
house until the morning.”

These words caused Buttercup to move about quickly; he felt
quite sure that if he spent the night in the bitter air he would die
before morning. The love of life was strong within him, and he
ran quickly about, trying in a distracted, aimless sort of way to find
some sand.

“Why don’t you look under the fir-trees?”’ called a silver voice in
his ear. He glanced round him in bewilderment; he could not see
anyone, and felt more terrified than ever.

“To look under the fir-trees!’’ exclaimed the same voice ; and