while one or two babies gazed at her with solemn grimy faces.

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Very good-in some ways, master!" cried she, getting up at once when she saw who it was, and shaking the wet from her hands.

"I have a present for you!"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the old man, taking his pipe from his mouth in order to look astonished. "I have really, and you must guess what it is." "I can't think."

"Do try!"

“Well, a small cake?”

"Better than that!"

"Let me see, an egg perhaps or two? No? Then what can it be?"

"Nothing to eat, something that you want very very much" said Chickweed.

"Can it be, but, indeed, I earnestly hope you have not been so extravagant, dear little girl; but, do you mean to tell me it is a pair of shoelaces?"

"Better!" cried Chickweed, smiling.

Better! How can anything be better than the thing one stands in need of?"

"What else, besides shoe-laces, do you stand in need of?"

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Nothing," said the old man, after a little pause. It was easier to say that than to name one need in a hundred.

"It's a book" said Chickweed, taking it hurriedly from underneath the half-dead chickweed and

groundsel.

He almost snatched it from her, with a look of wonderment that was payment enough to Chickweed.

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Look, children! They are almost dead the poor little tired bunches!" whereupon she strove to freshen them by holding them in the running water for a while; but, if they revived at all, and knew how disinterested was her care of them, since by no means could they be kept fresh enough for to-morrow's sale, they gave no sign. They had been gathered in vain; and who can say that they were not fading away the quicker for the thought? "Let us dig a little nice hole and cover them up warm," said one little voice.

But Chickweed would not hear of this, and laid them in the shade, bunch by bunch, in a row, just where the fresh living forget-me-nots were peeping at themselves in the water.

"I always gather too much," said Chickweed, regretfully.

"Where did you get this?" said the old man, looking up for one instant, and then burying his face in the book again.

"There is an old woman in the market-place, explained Chickweed, "who sells old clothes and books, and old shoes and boots. She has a bird in

a cage; and I very often give him a bit of groundsel. Well, to-day she called me to her stall, and bade me choose a book! I was so surprised; I could do

They told me she was believe it. But now, of

nothing but stare at her. very rich, but I could not course, I know she must be rich, because a book is a large price for a spray or two of wild groundsel. But still I could not choose a book; but when I told her what kind of a book I wanted, one to suit a learned man-our Schoolmaster, in fact-she chose one herself; and—is it what you like?"

"Eh?" said he, looking up for a moment; and only answered her question by walking away, with his nose between the open leaves, and forgetting to thank Chickweed for her kind thought and welcome present.

There was a shout of laughter.

"Let him alone, children!" cried Chickweed.

But other people did not let him alone. Two or three of the village women, when they had seen the book, told him frankly that he should return it to Chickweed-that it would fetch, in the town, at least as much as a couple of baskets full of groundsel -and that the child was not in a position to make such a valuable present, and that he ought to be ashamed of himself for accepting it.

Nothing could have exceeded his distress. He waited till his visitors had left him, and then, with the precious book under his arm, went as quickly

as he could to Chickweed's wooden hut, which was so low-roofed as to be scarcely high enough for him to stand upright in, and laid it carefully down on her one chair (for table there was none).

"My dear," said he, agitatedly, "I never thanked you for lending me your book; but I do so now, with all my heart, dear Chickweed! Yours was a kind thought. See, there it is, my dear, with never so much as a stain or mark the size of a pin's head upon it."

"Have you done with it done with it already?" said Chickweed, a little disappointed, for it was a large volume.

"No! There is no

My brain does not

"Done with it!" cried he. end to that book, dear child. reach so far. I read it and enjoyed it, and then, luckily, I forgot, and could read again! I cannot imagine what enjoyment people with good memories can possibly get out of books. Reading, to them, must be like eating a peach-pleasant while it lasts, but so soon over; and no second peach has the same flavour. Now reading, to me, my dear, is like sniffing at a posy-do you follow my meaning? You sniff, and sniff, and sniff, and then you think there isn't an atom of sniff left in your nose; and round the garden you go, fancying that you know all about that bunch of flowers; and yet five minutes afterwards, when you come back to it, it's as fresh and sweet and marvellous as ever!"

"Then keep the posy till you can really sniff no longer, Master Pepyn."

"That may be soon enough, little Chickweed," said he, with a tender smile.

"I only meant until you had done with it.”

“Well—well—well," said Master Pepyn, turning over a few leaves with respectful fingers. "But I ought to give you something in return for it."

"Yes, perhaps," said she, frankly.

"But what?" enquired Master Pepyn. "Ah! what?" repeated Chickweed.

The old man had but few things that he could give away. Chickweed thought of a certain set of three common crockery bowls that were his, and which were, in her estimation, precious objects indeed. The least of them, she felt, being far too great a price to ask for a mere old book.

But Master Pepyn's thoughts went beyond such household goods.

"I have an old butterfly-net. My boyish days of butterfly-hunting are over; nor have I much time, or the necessary books, for the study of entomology; but I might teach you the rudiments, perhaps. It is a fascinating study." By this time he had forgotten that he was only talking to an ignorant little country girl. Nor did he remember it, until she smiled.

"But I'm afraid you will not care for the net," he