'Does thee think so! Somehow I fancy, Dick, that things are running behind. Oh, Dick, if I had only a son like thee, a strong, broad shouldered son to step in now and carry on all this before it runs behind and goes downhill! Robin here is only a girl, and a little one who will grow up to helpless womanhood, and I am getting old."

Robin stood transfixed,-then turning swiftly and silently, she stole away unnoticed. Creeping through a hole in the fence, instead of springing over with a bound, as was her custom, she sat down on a big stone to try to understand what she had heard. Her hat hung round her neck by the strings, and her eyes were blinded by tears. sat silent and motionless-thinking, thinking.

She

Finally a bright thought struck her. She dashed away the tears, jumped up, swung open the gate into the dairy-field, and running all the way down the zigzag path, she landed with a clatter among the cows and the milk-buckets, nearly upsetting a bucket of warm milk which Kane, the man, had just set down in a row with the others.

'Gracious, chile, what's the matter with you? You mos' done scairt me to death."

Kane, ain't girls just as good as boys?" With her eyes shining like two stars with expectation, Robin turned a bucket upside down, sat down on it, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, and waited eagerly for Kane to speak.

"I don' jes' come to know what you mean, no how, Miss Rob."

"Ain't girls and women just as much account in the world as boys and men?"

Well, miss, I don' jes' know what to say 'bout it. I'low some people don' think wimin an' children much 'count nohow. Mought be they is, but they do tell of a paper somew'er's, 'bout where wimin, children, an' idiots is kin' o' spoken together in a breath."

"I don't believe a word of it, Kane. No one would ever think of mother and little crazy Davy in the village in the same thought.'

'Course not, miss, they wouldn't dare to. Miss Dorothy's worth all the village pu' together."

But, Kane, ain't I just as much good on the farm as if I'd been a boy?"

Lord, yes, a darn' sight more, Miss Rob. If you'd been yo' brother there hadn't been nary a bird's nes' ner a cherry, ner nothin' on the whole place."

"There, I knew it; and, Kane, I don't

quite understand why father is of more account than mother. What does he do to make him so?"

"Well, you see, miss, yo' pa, he hunts, an' he-he--well, miss, he's yo' pa.'

"But, Kane, I don't see why mother, who does everything, is of less use or account than father?"

"There ain' nothin' in the worl', Miss Rob, that makes yo' ma less 'coun' than yo' pa; an' no matter what nobody says, don' you b'lieve it, honey. She takes care o' the whole pesky lot of us an' this yere farm to boot. Who's been troublin' yo' min', honey?"

Robin's eyes again filled with tears and getting up from the bucket, she said:

"I'm going up to the house to ask mother all about it.'

And off she started, hitting at the clovertops with a stick as she went along. By the time she reached the gate, the tears were running down her cheeks and dropping off in great splashes. Upon the other side of the gate stood Adsum, the beautiful shepherd dog, waiting for her. He pushed his nose into her listless hand and looked up into her face in mute sympathy. He followed her into the house, up the stairs, and when Robin burst into her mother's room he was still at her side.

44

Mother dear, why wasn't I a boy?"

Why, my child, what is the trouble? Thee is crying."

"Mother, I want to be a boy. Father said he had no son to carry on things like Dick, and that I was only a girl, and that I'd be helpless and no good. Why will I be, mother?"

"When did father say all this, Robin?" "Just now, down the lane near the wheat-field; Dick and Adsum both heard him. What did he mean, mother?"

"He did not mean anything that need grieve thee, dear child. Father loves his little daughter too well, and when he comes in he will explain it all to thee."

"But, mother, that won't change things, that won't make me a boy, and father wants a boy.'

'No, that won't make thee a boy. Thee must know, Robin, father and I had a little son before thee was born, and when he died it was a great grief to us; and I am sure father was only thinking of that when he spoke.

"

Oh, mother, why has thee never told me about it before? Are all those little clothes thee keeps in the cedar chest his?"

"Yes, dear child. Ah, I hear father's step. Gilbert, Robin has heard some words of thine, which she has taken to heart," and the mother left the room.

"What did thee hear father say that troubles thee, Robin?"

And her father took the big arm chair and drew the child to him. She hid her face in his coat and said in a low tone:

"Tell me about the little boy thee had years ago."

A look of pain came over the father's face. Folding his arms about the child, he said, tenderly:

Many years ago when mother and I were younger, we had a little boy born to us, and as he grew and began to creep about, mother and I thought there was nothing in the world like him. But he did not live, Robin, and our hearts were nearly broken. Then for eight or nine years we had nothing but his memory to gladden our hearts, till one early spring morning-father will never forget it-just when the first robins had come, thee came, too. Finally I told mother I wanted to call thee Robin.' She did not like it, but I said thee must be my little son as well as my little daughter. So mother consented, and from the time thee could first walk, thee has gone with me everywhere. When father is away from thee, he has thee ever first in his heart; and when father said he had no son like Cousin Dick, it was because he was troubled in his mind about the farm and other things.'

Father was it really because thee thought of me as thy boy that thee gave me a boy's name?"

Raise Lazarus from the tomb, send back to hell

Torturing devils-aye! and I heard him say Most blessed words that have cheered me.

on my way

I saw Him, too, when, buffeted and betrayed, He stood before King Pilate, meek and mild,

While the great mob clamored hoarsely and the wild

Soldiers and crafty priests seemed half afraid

And anxious that the tempest should be stayed.

Pilate himself looked sad, but, like a child Whose innocent soul no sin has e'er defiled, Lord Jesus faced His foemen, undismayed. Through the gloom they gleam like stars, the lilies white,

The flowers beloved of Christ.

The end came soon, and, passing close by me, Who stood with John and Mary that great day,

Jesus, with bowed head, stumbled on His

The deepening dusk enwraps the lilies white,

The flowers beloved of Christ.

and tears,

That my memory has treasured from out the whirling years;

Two children down in the meadow, when the light of day has flown,

The years, like a dream, have vanished, and standing alone to-night,

As I think of the clover meadow, a something dims my sight!

I wait by the cold, white sepulchre and recall the tears I shed,

And lo! the portals open, and they rise, my holy dead!

I can hear the call for battle, for hero hearts and brave,

When a nation calls her children to succor and to save!

I can hear the battle-music, the roll of the stirring drum,

The tramp of the gathered millions as the marshaled armies come.

And, now, as the night grows deeper, and the midnight shadows fall, They bring me a heavy burden that is shrouded with heavy pall;

And my boy of the clover meadow, my lover of after years,

Lies silent and cold before me and heeds not my bursting tears!

And I can only murmur thro' the tears that blinding flow,

The song of the clover meadow, of that sweet old long ago:

"I have a love that loves me, she loves me well I know;

And hand in hand together thro' the great world we will go!"

The years still flow in silence and bear me on their breast,

And I stand in life's evening shadows while its sunset gilds the west;

I wait in the solemn glory that crowns life's western dome,

And out of the falling twilight I hear the whisper, "Come!"

And while I sadly linger, my eyes grow moist and dim,

And my soul goes forth in answer to the words that fall from him;

And while life's latest glories are fading soft and slow,

I hear again the echoes, the echoes sweet and low:

"I have a love that loves me, she loves me well I know;

And hand in hand together thro' the great world we will go!"

"Quick!" roared Mr. Spoopendyke. “I'm bleeding to death! Fetch me that courtplaster!

"Oh, dear!" moaned Mrs. Spoopendyke. "I put it-oh, where did I put it?"

..

Dod gast the putty!" yelled Mr. Spoopendyke, who had heard his wife imperfectly. "What d'ye think this is, a crack in the wall? Got some sort of a notion that there is a draught through here? Court-plaster, I tell you! Bring me some court-plaster before I pull out the side of this house and get some from the neighbors!"

Just then it occurred to Mrs. Spoopendyke that she had put the plaster in the clock.

"Here it is, dear! and she snipped off a piece and handed it to him.

Mr. Spoopendyke put it on the end of his tongue, holding his thumb over the wound. When it was thoroughly wet, it stuck fast to his finger, while the blood ran down his chin. He jabbed away at the cut, but the plaster hung to his finger, until finally his patience was thoroughly exhausted.

"What's the matter with the measly business?" he yelled. 'Where'd ye buy this plaster? Come off, dod gast ye!" and as he plucked it off his finger it stuck to his thumb. "Stick, will ye?" he squealed, plugging at the cut in his chin. "Let go that thumb!" and he whirled around on his heel and pegged at it again. 'Why don't ye bring me some court-plaster?" he shrieked, turning on his trembling wife. "Who asked ye for a leech? Bring me something that

knows a thumb from a chin!" and he planted his thumb on the wound and screwed it around vindictively.

This time the plaster let go and slipped up to the corner of his mouth.

"Now it's all right, dear, " smiled Mrs. Spoopendyke, anxious to secure peace. "It's all right now!"

"Think it is, do ye?" raved Mr. Spoopendyke, with a fearful grin. "May be you've got the same idea that court-plaster has! P'raps you think that mouth was cut with a razor! May be you're under the impression that this hole in my visage was meant to succumb to the persuasion of a little bit of plaster! Come off! Let go that mouth!" and as he gave it a wipe it stuck to the palm of his hand as though it had been glued there.

"Let me try," suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke; "I know how to do it."

Then why didn't ye do it first?" howled Mr. Spoopendyke; What did ye want to wait until I'd lost three gallons of gore for? Ob, you know how to do it! You only want a linen back and a bottle of mucilage up your side to be a county hospital. Stick! dod gast ye!" and he clapped the wrong hand over his chin. "I'll hold ye there till ye stick, if I hold ye till my wife learns something!'

Mr. Spoopendyke pranced up and down the room with a face indicative of stern determination.

"Let me see, dear," said his wife, approaching him with a smile, and, gently drawing away his hand, she deftly adjusted another piece of plaster.

That was my piece after all," growled Mr. Spoopendyke, eyeing the job and glancing at the palm of his hand to find his piece of plaster gone. "You always come in

after the funeral."

With golden love, with golden hair,
Can not with me these beauties share.
For yonder 'neath that grassy mound,
The form of her I love so well
In mouldy coffin may be found.

In yonder hut we used to dwell,
When painted warriors lurked around;
And monster serpents oft were found,
That lay beneath the bark to hide,
That through the grasses glitter-glide.
My Lieugra feared their poisonous fangs;
I laughed at her and thought it folly
To shrink in fear from any danger.
I strove to break her of her fearing,
First by laughing, then by jeering.

I left her side one pleasant morn,
As sweet a morn as e'er was born;
I took my ax and maul and wedges,
To work the timber 'long the ledges.
All day long I hewed and pounded,
All day long the blows resounded.
Round about the bees were humming,
Pecking birds the trees were drumming,
Trippling, drippling little brooks,
Winding round the woodland nooks,
Merry music ever sounding,
To their gentle, dancy bounding.

Just as glowing day was dying,
And rifted streaks of golden light
Foretold the coming of the night,
And birds to nest were fleetly flying,
There strayed across my homeward path,
Darting its tongue in fiendish wrath,
A monster serpent. Round it coiled,
Prepared to spring; but quick as flash
My weapon drew, my aim was true,
A loud report, a clang, a clash,
And lo! my foe my weapon foiled.

I tied a thong about its neck,

I dragged it home, and laughing said:
I'll frighten Lieugra just for fun;
Oh, but she will scream and run,
When I lay it by the door,
E'en though it's cold and dead,-
Foolish thing to be so 'fraid—
I'll break her of her foolish fearing."

I laid the serpent by the door,

I called my Lieugra. Out she came;
She noticed not the serpent there,
She only looked into my face.
I never saw her quite so fair,
Loving beauty bound in grace;
A form more sweet to human eyes
Never dwelt below the skies.

She left the door somewhat ajar;
She bounded gaily to my side.
God of mercy, could I hide
All the scenes that followed on;
Could deaf'ning thunder drown the sound
That echoes still within my ears.
Some demon seemed to seize my soul,
For mortal man with tempered mind
Could not so madly play my part;
No mortal eye could be so blind,
So dead to love, so void of heart.

I sprang from her, and with a bound
Leaped within the open door,-
Closed it in the face of Lieugra.

Then rang the wildest, piercing cries
That ever fell on human ears.
Loud I heard my name repeated,
By the lips of frightened Lieugra,

Linden, Linden, save me, save me!"
Still that wailing sound I hear;

The winds that blow, the waves that beat,
Still those awful wails repeat:
"Linden, Linden, save me, save me!"
All the woodland seems to say:

'Linden, Linden, save me, save me!"

I swung the door upon its hinges,
Heard its dull and screechy schringes,
Bounded out again to Lieugra.
God of mercy, hide the horror,-
Round her coiled a deadly serpent,
In her cheek its teeth were fastened.
Knife in hand I quickly hastened,
Cut the poisoned demon from her;
But too late,-her life had fled,
My darling, sweet Lieugra was dead.

By her side two serpents lay;
One I brought in foolish play,
Flung it at an angel's feet;
One had followed by my path,
Searching for its dead companion;
In its deadly, fearful wrath
Wound around my fairest idol,
Left me bleeding for my folly.

God bless her name,

And curse my soul in flaring flame,
And blast me in the deepest hell,
For breathing that supernal name,
For claiming it in bonds of love,-
I a demon, she a dove,

With sweeter soul than perfumed seas,
With brighter love than seas of light,
A burning love that knows no night.
Beware, Ŏ sturdy men, beware,
In casting at a maiden's feet,
A serpent vile for pleasure meet.
Though it may seem a pleasure rare,
Though it may seem a harmless thing,
'Twill in a way give back a sting.

The answer came back quickly; I had almost furgot

The circumstances, but it seems this here chap had not.

The penmanship was scrawly.

you," it began;

"God bless

"Though the past I'm not furgettin', let us talk as man to man.

Fur in spirit I'm not conquered, although the fightin' 's done;

I stan' on the same groun' I stood in eighteen sixty-one.

An' when it comes to principle, I say the South wuz right:

An' jes' as bad as ever, I am dyin' fur a fight. Yes, I fought the rascally Yankees, I shot 'em fur to kill;

An' to say that I am conquered, you bet I never will!

But the life they tried to take-the confounded Yankee crew

At the battle of Cedar Mountain, wuz saved, ole feller, by you.

Of course, you must remember the chap that helpless lay,

So very, very near to death when you come by that way,

An' staunched my bleedin' wounds, an' give to me a drink

From out yer ole canteen, sir. How queer! an' jes' to think

You wuz doin' yer best to kill me, less than an hour before,

Now doin' yer best to save me, although you

cussed an' swore

I wuzn't wuth a-savin'; nor half the trouble you took

A-carryin' an' draggin' till you got me to the brook;

An' washin' off my face an' wounds, an' easin' up my head,

An' all the time declarin' you wished every traitor dead;

An' sayin' I wuz rather young to be in sich