Ww. V.~.

“Wasn’t there never no awful big spider
that made webs in the Forest?”

“And caught lions and bears?”

She nodded approvingly. Oh, yes, there
was — once upon a time.

“ And was there a little girl there?”

There must have been for the story to be
worth telling ; but the breakfast bell broke in
on the opening chapter of that little girl’s
incredible adventures.

After breakfast we followed the old birth-
day custom, and “ plunged” into the depths
of the Forest. Some persons, I have heard,
call our Forest the “East Woods,” and
report that though they are pleasant enough
in summer, they are rather meagre and
limited in area. Now, it is obvious that it
would be impossible to “ plunge” into any-
‘thing less than a Forest. Certainly, when
W. V. is with me I am conscious of the
Forest —the haunted, enchanted, aboriginal
Forest; and I see with something of her
illumined vision, the vision of W. V., who
can double for herself the comfort of a fire on
a chilly day by running into the next room

8