MY NIGHTINGALE. 13 coming on, and sat out on the old wharf till it was quite dark, and the lights began to shine out from houses and ships and twinkle in the black water. Even then he was always home before his mother, for the house was but a stone’s-throw from the wharf, and she had often some way to walk after she left the houses where she worked. Then they would have supper together in their tiny room— generally a dish of smoking rice and black bread, or on grand occasions plum soup, which I do not think many English little girls and boys would have liked. After supper his mother, if she were not too tired; would read to him. out of the one story-book he possessed, and which he almost knew by heart now; but Holger did not care for games, and was quite con- tent to listen to the well-known stories. Sometimes Holger would tell his mother some of the stories he made up as he a