fuk NIGHTINGALE. 363
«I should like to know if you deserve that one should run to the
end of the world after you?”

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the Prince and
Princess.

“ They ’ve. gone to foreign countries,” said the robber girl.

“But the Crow?” said Gerda.

“But the Crow is dead,” answered the other. “The tame
one has become a widow, and goes about with an end of black
worsted thread round her leg. She complains most lamentably,
but it’s all talk. But now tell me how you have fared, and how
you caught him.”

‘And Gerda and Kay told their story.

“ Snipp-snapp-snurre-purre-basellurre !” said the robber girl.

And she took them both by the hand, and promised that if she
ever came through their town, she would come up and pay them
a visit. And then she rode away into the wide world. But Gerda
and Kay went hand in hand, and as they went it became beauti-
ful spring, with green and with flowers. The church bells sounded,
and they recognized the high steeples and the great town: it was
the one in which they lived ; and they went to the grandmother's
door, and up the stairs, and into the room, where everything re-
mained in its usual place. The big clock was going “Tick! tack!”
and the hands were turning; but as they went through the rooms
they noticed that they had become grown-up people. The roses
out on the roof gutter were blooming in at the open window, and
there stood the little children’s chairs, and Kay and Gerda sat
each upon their own, and held each other by the hand. They
had forgotten the cold empty splendour at the Snow Queen’s like
a heavy dream. The grandmother was sitting in God’s bright
sunshine, and read aloud out of the Bible, ‘‘ Except ye become as
little children, ye shall in na wise enter into the kingdom of God.”

And Kay and Gerda looked into each other’s eyes, and all at
once they understood the old song—

“© Roses bloom and roses decay,
But we the Christ-child shall see one day.”

There they both sat, grown up, and yet children—children in
heart—and it was summer, warm delightful summer.

—~+—.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

N China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and
all whom he has about him are Chinamen too. It hap-
_ pened a good many years ago, but that’s just why it’s
worth while to hear the story, before it is forgotten, The Em-