HE SANG THEM A LAY

Said Mat

ty, she'd

wait for

the carriage to start, And she

sat there and bitterly

smiled,

Till Ned, fairly routed, was glad to depart

With only himself and the trunk in the cart: She was such a master

ful child!

"Now the carriage we'll meet," cried Matty at last,

(p. 26). And she pulled little Poppy along ;

But the road that they went while the rain fell fast, She complained was not that which the cart had passed;

Still she said that she never was wrong.

Too long would it take to describe where they went,

Now dismally, Matty and Poppy;

But they got to some wood ere the day was quite spent,

Where prickly boughs down to their soft faces bent,

And the ground with the thaw was all soppy.

And welcome at last looked a gardener's shed,
For indeed they were nearly benighted!

They saw through the window, on shelves neatly spread,

White globe of turnip and bulb pinky red,

Like lamps ranged up there to be lighted.
Then Matty the strong one, and Poppy the mild,
Jumped up to the high window-sill.
The gardener heard, and their stay he beguiled
With talk of the common, where donkeys ran wild,
They must cross before mounting the hill.
Oh, find us a carriage," Mat asked him in vain,
"And find us some pretty white horse
With a tail like a plume, and a fine flowing mane;
I'll think of you sometimes when I'm home again,
If you'll help us the common to cross."

The gardener pondered so long that they heard
Quite clearly the fall of a spider.
"Oh, yes! I can help you," at last he averred,
Then a vast mass of rubbish he stirred and he stirred,
Till their eyes opened wider and wider.
Grandfather's guests to the lighted hall crowd,

Oh! surely some sight is in store!
And laughter peals forth-it is merry and loud--
As Poppy all tearful, and Matty still proud,
In a wheelbarrow come to the door!

Gardener Jakes for much pushing got gold,
And a bran new barrow had he;
And Matty got scolded, and Poppy got cold,
And Christmas-time flitted past young and past old,
And left them as gay as might be.

Matty, she learnt many ways to forsake,

But still to her pride felt the smart ; And now and again some small comfort would take, Thinking whilst lying by moonlight awake,

That the wheelbarrow was not the cart. H. P.

T was a poultry-yard indeed!

IT

-one to be proud of. So said the visitors who came to see it. And the farmer and his wife were proud of it, and in time the poultry came to be proud of it too.

The turkeys gobbled and looked fiercely at the visitors, whom they regarded as intruders. "The poultryyard belonged to the poultry; what had the strangers come for ?"

The geese, hearing them, marched down in an awkward line, stretching out their necks, saying"What is the matter? what is the matter?"

The ducks quacked in answer, "We do not know, we do not know; we are trying to find out."

And Mrs. Hen called her young ones round her, and said, "Keep close to me; I do not know what these strangers have come for."

The only bird who appeared to be satisfied and quite at his ease was a very young cock, who, tossing up his head as high as possible, and ruffling out his feathers, strutted up and down.

The geese paused before him as he was taking his fifteenth turn.

"What is it? what is it?" they asked.

"It's me," said the young cock, who was so very young that he had had no lessons in grammar.

66 Me!" repeated the geese, stretching their necks out still farther. "We never heard of him." And they went on their way, whilst the young cock said contemptuously, "The stupid creatures!"

"Quack, quack, quack," said the ducks, when they heard what the geese had to say, "Me is him." But this was Greek to the geese, who became more perplexed than ever. As they waddled back again, they again encountered the young cock, so they all hissed out-

"Who is him? The ducks say him is me." "Stupid creatures!" muttered the cock; and he left them standing with their mouths wide open, and each balancing on one leg.

"Impertinent," he muttered, "to get in my way, and interfere with me."

Mrs. Hen and a brood of chickens strolled past. "Oh, what beauties!" exclaimed the visitors. "Insufferable!" ejaculated the cock. "Even one's relatives can't keep out of one's way."

And now there was a general rush from all parts of the poultry-yard; for the farmer's wife brought out a basket of corn, and the visitors were scattering it about. The young cock found himself quite hidden amongst the larger fowls.

"How extremely annoyed these people must be at being no longer able to see me."

And he flapped his wings, and stood on tiptoes, and shoved and pushed, saying, "Make way for me; make way for me; until an old cock said

But the geese did not understand them. "I am me, you stupid birds," said the exasperated young cock. "The visitors have come to see me." "O-h!" said the geese, with their mouths wide open. And they crowded round the cock to see if there were anything remarkable about him, which annoyed him so much that he burst from the circle and perched himself at a little distance upon a great stone near one of the outbuildings. He was full of pride and rage, and he thought

"I will not be pushed about in this manner ; I will protest against it. I will raise my voice and crow till I am heard. No doubt I have a splendid voice, though I have never yet tried it."

And with that he gave such a shrill "Cock-adoodle-do" that not only the visitors but all the poultry turned to look at him.

The young cock, delighted with the effect he had produced, went on with his crowing until one thought he would injure his throat. On and on, till many of the birds put their claws to their ears, and the farmer called to one of his men, "Here,

Now, though they were only laughing at the geese, yet the young cock grew angry; for it took their attention away from himself-at least, so he thought. And then the duck came up, with her little fluffy ducklings; and one of the visitors said

"Oh, the soft, pretty little creatures!" which enraged the conceited cock even more and more.

he's enough to deafen us all."

Jack was hastening to do as his master bade him; but before he could reach the spot, the mortified cock had descended from his elevation. As he slunk away, his mother, who had been watching all his movements, whispered as he passed her, "It will do thee good, Chanticleer, early to learn that pride generally meets with a fall."

CHAPTER 1.-FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

H, dear! how very very hot it is!" sighed little Mabel Wyndham. "It seems to get hotter and hotter."

"If you were to sit still, dear, you would probably not feel it so much; but you do nothing but fidget backwards and forwards from window to window or from one seat to another

-the most restless little being possible," said Miss Poole, with a kind smile as she glanced at the child's flushed face.

"Have we much farther to go before we reach the station?" asked the little girl, planting herself in front of her companion; for as they had the railway carriage entirely to themselves she had the range of it, and had been availing herself of her liberty in a way that was more conducive to her own comfort than to that of Miss Poole, who was a little tired of such perpetual motion. But she did not check her much, for she could enter into the child's feelings, and admitted that the occasion excused a little extra restlessness and excitability.

"We shall get there in half an hour, most likely." "And then you will have to leave me?"

"Yes, dear; I am going to give you over into the charge of the nurse your aunt is sending to meet you."

"I wonder what she will be like! I do hope she won't be cross," and Mabel's face lengthened at the thought. "But I know she will never be half as kind as you have been," added the child, as she flung her arms round her companion's neck and gave her a warm embrace. "I wish I could go back again to Breen with you."

"And I am very sorry to part with you, darling. But you must cheer up, dear," said Miss Poole, as she noticed the starting tears, and the quivering lip. "I dare say it seems formidable to be going among strangers, but that will soon wear off; and I expect

you will be very happy. You must tell me all about your new home when you write. It must be a most lovely place, and you will soon grow very fond of it, I feel sure."

"I would a great deal rather have stayed with you," rejoined Mabel, clinging the more closely to her friend as she realised how soon they would have to part.

So

Miss Poole had had the entire charge of Mabel Wyndham since her parents' return to India some years previously. The little girl had found a happy home with her, and had grown very fond of her. But now she was giving up her little party of Indian children, as a favourite brother in Canada wanted her to come out there and keep house for him. Mabel was to go to an uncle and aunt, her mother's brother and sister, who were living at the family house among the Lakes. But they were quite strangers to the little girl, as she had not been there since she could remember. They had never even once invited their little niece and her brother to visit them during their holidays; for they were not accustomed to children, and felt they should not know what to do with them.

But now, as the absent mother could not bear the thought of entrusting her little girl to any one whom she had never seen, Mr. Howard had consented that she should come to live at Heylands; and as his will was law, Miss Alicia had no choice but to fall in with the arrangement. Otherwise, if she could have had her own way, she would have declined the responsibility "of taking charge of another person's child," as she expressed it, though that "other person" was her own sister.

"One child is enough to upset a whole house," she said to herself; "and then there will be the boy in the holidays. What I shall do then I'm sure I don't know; I shall be driven perfectly distracted. Still, that will be only for a time, but Mabel will be here always-all the year round. It is dreadful to think of. It will make me quite ill, I know. It is really absurd of Helen to have such a dread of schools; and I don't see that Mabel is a bit too young for one. She is eight or nine, or ten-I'm sure I forget which-and many children are sent to school at that age. And I am not strong enough to bear any worry. Helen ought to have considered that; and even Gwynne might, only that he has no thoughts for anything beyond his books and collections. If I were some specimen of rare butterfly or plant I should receive more consideration at his hands."

Thus mused Miss Alicia as she lay on her couch

in the drawing-room, amusing herself with some trifling bit of fancy work, at the moment when Miss Poole was saying good-bye to Mabel, and gently trying to disengage herself from the weeping child, who was clinging to her convulsively now that the final parting had come. For her invariable kindness and gentleness had completely won the warm little heart, and it was no slight trial to lose her only friend and turn to go amongst strangers.

Moreover, the countenance of the nurse who met her was by no means a prepossessing one, or at all calculated to attract a child at first sight. It was a thin, narrow face, and wore a discontented expression which seemed to be habitual, whilst there was a peevish ring in the sharp voice, which contrasted strongly with Miss Poole's quiet tones, and helped to make the little girl instinctively take a dislike to her at first sight. For Mabel's impulsive, eager nature did nothing by halves; both her likes and dislikes were strong, and she at once made up her mind that she should not like nurse.

However, hard though it was to unclasp the clinging arms and sever herself from the loving grasp of her little charge, Miss Poole was forced to do so, and Mabel had no resource but to turn and follow nurse to the carriage, which was waiting to take them back to Heylands. She tried to check her sobs, and wiped away her tears; but for some time her little breast heaved at intervals, whilst her eyes overflowed again and again.

By degrees, however, she began to look around her with interest upon the scenery through which they were passing, especially when there suddenly broke upon her view a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains; and finally she became all impatience to catch the first glimpse of her future home. "Shall we soon get there, nurse?"

"Yes, Miss Mabel. But you won't see much of the house itself till you turn in at the lodge gates and go up the drive."

"Is it very pretty?"

"Yes, it's a pretty place, certainly," returned Mrs. Cobbold, condescendingly; "but it's very dull. For I have been accustomed to a town, where one meets people when one goes out, and can have a chat with one and a word with another; but here there's nobody to meet along the roads except a few tourists."

"Then there aren't many children here, I suppose?"

"I haven't seen one yet, except the little crippled girl at the lodge. Miss Howard doesn't like children, so she don't care to have 'em about her. And she don't take kindly to the idea of having you either, so you'll have to be on your best

behaviour, I can tell you, and go about the house like a mouse, or you'll be upsetting her nerves and I don't know what," said Mrs. Cobbold.

This was not encouraging. Poor Mabel listened in silence, but the corners of her mouth began to droop, and the usually bright laughing eyes were grave and almost mournful. Miss Poole would scarcely have recognised the merry romping child in the quiet subdued little girl who stepped out of the carriage on arriving at the house, and noiselessly followed the footman up the broad staircase which led to the drawing-room. He threw open the door, and then made way for her to advance.

She entered shyly and hesitatingly, glancing halftimidly round the spacious apartment, which for a moment she thought must be untenanted, for no one came forward to greet her. At length her eye fell upon a couch at the farther end of the room drawn near one of the large bay windows. A lady was reclining on it, who languidly stretched out a hand; saying, “So here you are, Mabel; I thought I heard the carriage-wheels."

Mabel slowly advanced and put her hand into her aunt's. The latter gave her a formal kiss, to which she submitted, but there was no response to it on her side. Miss Alicia Howard did not appear a person to kiss. Her pale, thin face, which never seemed to light up, and her cold, precise manner, which was calculated to keep everybody at a distance, were not winning; and her little niece, as she made her observations, was conscious of a keen sense of disappointment.

"Did Miss Poole come with you all the way?"

"Yes," replied the child abruptly in a choked voice, the mention of her friend awaking a sore longing to be able to fly back into her arms, for the poor little heart was aching at the coldness of the reception given her, and her spirits sank at the prospect of having to spend her days with Aunt Alicia and Mrs. Cobbold. The rebellious tears started to her eyes, and she had great difficulty in keeping them from overflowing. instinct told her that Miss Howard was not one to sympathise in any childish grief, so she tried to force back all signs of it. It was too late, however; her aunt had noticed these symptoms of a threatening storm.

But

"Tears, Mabel! Well, I certainly had not expected that! I should have thought you would have been only too delighted to come to Heylands, and would have felt what a kind thing it is of Uncle Gwynne to have you here. I hope you are not going to show yourself ungrateful for it all. We don't want a fretful child here." This was too much for Mabel's already chafed