A SNAIL’S RACE. 211

on the opposite side, a mist was beginning to rise over the
grass and veiling the distance, and, coming along the road to-
wards him, with her back to the town, moved a bent figure, which
laboured wearily but steadfastly nearer, leaning on a crutch.

It was not—surely it could not be—old Betty coming back!

It was. Johnny had been so deeply lost in sleep that he
had neither seen nor heard her go by, nor had she seen ae
hidden as he was by the broken ground and bushes.

There he had stayed dreaming while the precious
moments—always awake! for time never goes to sleep—went
flying by. And the postman had gone by, too, with his bag of
letters, after locking the post-box for the night. It was too
late; there was no chance for any more letters, however
important they might be.

“Why, you haven’t got very far,” said Betty, smiling, as
she came up to Johnny; but she soon left off smiling when she
saw how woe-begone poor Johnny looked.

He had taken out the letter from his pocket, and was
turning it over and over in his hands. What would father say ?

“He will never send me again,” thought the boy; and the
tears felt as if they were only a very little way behind his eyes.
He had been so proud at. the trust put in him !—besides, there
was the sixpence.

Johnny plodded dolefully along by Betty's side, and after a
time he said, ‘Let me have your basket, Betty, and help you
with it. I wish I had stayed with you at first; I should have
had lots of time. It was going so fast that made my feet ache
so, and then I sat down to rest.”

“ Never mind, little lad,” said Betty; and she let him have
one handle of the basket while she held the other. ‘‘ We can’t
put grey heads upon green shoulders’: they wouldn’t look half
so pretty as golden ones if we did. Go in and tell father about
the letter, and then you shall come along with me and help me