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Another morning, when Crosspatch set out very early, she heard the old black hen clucking away like mad. So she thought she might as well peep in and see what was the matter, and whether Dame Partlet would spare her an egg for breakfast, in case the goblin should wake up; for she knew that most people have a weakness for eggs when they are nicely poached, and it might pacify him a bit if he happened to be stirring. But Dame Partlet

had not an egg ready laid; she was only clucking over a scrap of parchment she had discovered while she was tidying her nest. "You may have it, if you like," said she to Crosspatch, "it may help to eke out your quilt;" and this was Dame Partlet's contribution :

"COCK A DOODLE DO!"

Cock a doodle do,

I want a word with

you;

For you watch, they say, for the break of day,
To warn the elfin crew :

Lest the smallest of elves or the tiniest fay

Should be shrivell'd and scorch'd in the sun's fierce

ray;

So when the first light in the east you espy,
Your clarion shrill warns the revellers to fly;
Where do they hide, in the lily bells,
Or deep in the foxglove's purple cells?
Tell me, I pray.

Where elfin and fay

Hide themselves snugly at break of day!
But chanticleer bold

Dared not have told,

So he strutted, and ruffled, and hurried away,
Shouting out loudly, as off he flew,

"Cock a doodle do! Cock a doodle do!"

Cock a doodle do,

It's very rude of you

To mock me, and scoff, and take yourself off,
In the burly manner you do!

So I'll ask instead, if your mind is at rest
About sundry small articles miss'd from the nest;
Is the fiddlestick found for your sorrowing master ?
And pray has your dame repair'd her disaster?
Cock a doodle do!

Has she found her shoe?

But the bird was indignant, and off he flew.

Old Grip the Raven came to Crosspatch, and said to her, "Here, Goody, here's a famous old yellow sheet of paper for your quilt. It's all covered with queer-looking letters and marks; but that does not signify, I daresay. I picked

it out of old Doctor Christian's waste-paper basket on purpose for you."

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"Thank you kindly," answered Crosspatch, who had now learned from necessity to be more civil to everybody, "thank you, Grip; it will make a famous patch, I'm sure.' And the story that was written on it was translated out of some unknown tongue by the learned old Doctor Christian, who had called it

THE THREE PILGRIMS.

Two travellers set out on their journey through the world; and, as may be imagined, their path lay through very varied scenery; sometimes through towns and villages and populous places, and sometimes stretching through dense forest or wide moorland. They were well attired for their journey in warm frieze cloaks, and huge penthouse hats; and the steeds which bore them were stout, well-fed nags, that ambled on at a pleasant, jog-trot pace; and on their horse-cloths and saddle-bags were written the initials of the respective owners, with many flourishes and

graceful devices. Those on the first one consisted of two W.'s, neatly interlaced, monogramfashion, which stood for "Worldly Wisdom;" and on that of the second stood, distinct and bold, the capital letters, L. R., which meant Legal Rectitude."

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They put up at an inn for the night, and called on mine host for his choicest fare and his richest wine; and the hostess ushered them reverently into the room of honour, and placed them in the best seats. Presently, while they sat sniffing at their perfume-boxes, and unfolding their dainty white napkins, a little voice was heard below stairs, very low, and yet so sweet and clear withal, that it pierced the silence of the great house like the notes of a silver clarion, till the very swallows on the eaves twittered at the sound.

"What seek you, my little maid ?" asked the burly host of the tiny patient figure that stood before him. She was a small, pale child, with dark, soft eyes, whose looks seemed to penetrate to your very soul, and leave there peace and

She

calm. She was attired in humble raiment; dingy, colourless robes wrapped her, not too warmly, from the biting air; and tattered shoes scarcely protected her tender feet from the sharp stones of the road. Her ragged cloak bore the trace of ages of storm and tempest; but her sweet kindly eyes and tender smile bore no signs of either winter or rough weather. looked frankly into the host's face, and said, "Shelter and food," and, whatever might be the magic of her voice or face, it certainly worked powerfully; for he left his business of drawing wine for his customers, and ushered her also into the best guest-chamber as respectfully as if she had been the Grand-Duchess herself.

The two travellers turned up their noses, and gave themselves vast airs at the entrance of the little ragged maiden; but mine host took no notice, so they were forced to grumble to themselves, and draw their chairs so close to the fender, that no one, save themselves, could catch a glimpse of the fire till after dinner.

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