edge of the woods—not too far, remember; and if I must have you, why I will send for you." "I would rather not go if it will be any trouble." "No, dear, it's no trouble; I want you to go," answered the matron, turning hastily away. Beulah felt very strongly inclined to follow, and inquire what was in store for her; but the weight on her heart pressed more heavily, and murmuring to herself, "it will come time enough, time enough," she passed on. "May I come with you and Lilly ?" entreated little Claudia, running down the walk at full speed, and putting her curly head through the palings to make the request. 66 'Yes, come on. You and Lilly can pick up some nice smooth burs to make baskets of. But where is your bonnet ?" "I forgot it;" she ran Beulah's hand. up, almost out of breath, and seized "You forgot it, indeed! You little witch, you will burn as black as a gipsy." "I don't care if I do. I hate bonnets." "Take care, Claudy; the President won't have you all freckled and tanned." "Won't he?" queried the child, with a saucy sparkle in her black eyes. "That he won't; here, tie on my hood, and the next time you come running after me, bareheaded, I will make you go back; do you hear?" "Yes, I hear. I wonder why Miss Dorothy don't bleach off her freckles; she looks just like a " "Hush about her, and run on ahead." "Do pray let me get my breath first; which way are we going?" "To the piney woods yonder," cried Lilly, clapping her hands in childish glee; "won't we have fun, rolling and sliding on the straw?" The two little ones walked on in advance. The path along which their feet pattered so carelessly led to a hollow or ravine, and the ground on the opposite side rose into small hillocks, thickly wooded with pines. Beulah sat down upon a mound of moss and leaves; while Claudia and Lillian, throwing off their hoods, commenced the glorious game of sliding. The pine straw presented an almost glassy surface, and starting from the top of a hillock, they slid down, often stumbling and rolling together to the bottom. Many a peal of laughter rang out, and echoed far back in the forest, and two blackbirds could not have kept up a more continuous chatter. Apart from all this sat Beulah; she had remembered the matron's words, and stopped just at the verge of the woods, whence she could see the white palings of the Asylum. Above her the winter breeze moaned and roared in the pine tops; it was the sad but dearly loved forest music that she so often stole out to listen to. Every breath which sighed through the emerald boughs seemed to sweep a sympathetic chord in her soul, and she raised her arms toward the trees as though she longed to clasp the mighty musical box of nature to her heart. The far-off blue of a cloudless sky looked in upon her, like a watchful guardian; the sunlight fell slantingly, now mellowing the brown leaves and knotted trunks, and now seeming to shun the darker spots and recesses, where shadows lurked. For a time, the girl forgot all, but the quiet and majestic beauty of the scene. She loved nature as only those can whose sources of pleasure have been sadly curtailed, and her heart went out, so to speak, after birds, and trees, and flowers, sunshine, and stars, and the voices of sweeping winds. An open volume lay on her lap; it was Longfellow's Poems, the book Eugene had sent her, and leaves were turned down at "Excelsior," and the "Psalm of Life." The changing countenance indexed very accurately the emotions which were excited by this communion with Nature. There was an uplifted look, a brave, glad, hopeful light in the grey eyes, gene. rally so troubled in their expression. A sacred song rose on the evening air, a solemn but beautiful hymn. She sang the words of the great strength-giving poet, the "Psalm of Life:" "Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream; And things are not what they seem." It was wonderful what power and sweetness there was in her voice; burst after burst of rich melody fell from her trembling lips. Her soul echoed the sentiments of the immortal bard, and she repeated again and again the fifth verse: "In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life; Be not like dumb driven cattle, Be a hero in the strife." Intuitively she seemed to feel that an hour of great trial was at hand, and this was a girding for the combat. With the shield of a warm, hopeful heart, and the sword of a strong, unfaltering will, she awaited the shock; but as she concluded her song, the head bowed itself upon her arms, the shadow of the unknown, lowering future had fallen upon her face, and only the Great Shepherd knew what passed the pale lips of the young orphan. She was startled by the sharp bark of a dog, and looking up, saw a gentleman leaning against a neighboring tree, and regarding her very earnestly. He came forward as she perceived him, and said with a pleasant smile: "You need not be afraid of my dog. Like his master, he would not disturb you till you finished your song. Down, Carlo; be quiet, sir. My little friend, tell me who taught you to sing." She had hastily risen, and a slight glow tinged her cheek at his question. Though naturally reserved and timid, there was a self-possession about her, unusual in children of her age, and she answered in a low voice, "I have never had a teacher, sir; but I listen to the choir on Sabbath, and sing our Sunday-school hymns at church." "Do you know who wrote those words you sang just now? I was not aware they had been set to music?" "I found them in this book yesterday, and liked them so much that I tried to sing them by one of our hymn tunes." She held up the volume as she spoke. He glanced at the title, and then looked curiously at her. Beulah chanced just then to turn toward the Asylum, and saw one of the oldest girls running across the common. The shadow on her face deepened, and she looked around for Claudia and Lillian. They had tired of sliding, and were busily engaged picking up pine burs at some little distance in the rear. แ Come, Claudy-Lilly-our matron has sent for us; come, make haste." "Do you belong to the Asylum?" asked the gentleman, shaking the ashes from his cigar. "Yes, sir," answered she, and as the children came up she bowed and turned homeward. "Wait a moment; those are not your sisters, certainly?" His eyes rested with unfeigned admiration on their beautiful faces. "This one is, sir; that is not." As she spoke she laid her hand on Lillian's head. Claudia looked shyly at the stranger, and then seizing Beulah's dress, exclaimed: "Oh, Beulah, don't let us go just yet. I left such a nice, splendid pile of burs." "Yes, we must go, yonder comes Katy for us. ing, sir," Good even "Good evening, my little friend; some of these days I shall come to the Asylum to see you all, and have you sing that song again." She made no reply, but catching her sister's hand, walked rapidly homeward. Katy delivered Mrs. Williams' message, and assured Beulah she must make haste, for Miss Dorothy was displeased that the children were absent. "What is she there again, the hateful". Beulah's hand was over Claudia's mouth, and prevented the remainder of the sentence. That short walk was painful, and conflicting hopes and fears chased each other in the sister's heart, as she tightened her hold on Lilly's hand. "Oh, what a beautiful carriage !" cried Claudia, as they approached the door, and descried an elegant carriage, glittering with silver mountings, and drawn by a pair of spirited black horses. "Yes, that it is, and there is a lady and gentleman here who must be very rich, judging from their looks. They brought Miss White." "What do they want, Katy?" asked Claudia. "I don't know for certain, though I have my own thoughts," answered the girl, with a knowing laugh that grated on Beulah's ears. "Here, Beulah, bring them to the dormitory," said Mrs. Williams, meeting them at the door, and hurrying them up-stairs. She hastily washed Claudia's face and recurled her hair, while the same offices were performed for Lillian by her sister. "Don't rub my hand so hard, you hurt," cried out Claudia, sharply, as in perfect silence, and with an anxious countenance, the kind matron dressed her. "I only want to get it white and clean, beauty," was the conciliatory reply. "Well, I tell you that won't come off, because it's turpen tine," retorted the self-willed little elf. "Come, Beulah, bring Lilly along. Miss White is out of patience." "What does all this mean?" said Beulah, taking her sister's hand. "Don't ask me, poor child." As she spoke, the good woman ushered the trio into the reception-room. None of the other children were present; Beulah noted this circumstance, and drawing a long breath, looked around. Miss White was eagerly talking to a richly-dressed and very pretty woman, while a gentleman stood beside them, impatiently twirling his seal and watch-key. |