on a certain lovely afternoon the three happiest people in the world (so they styled themselves, and they ought to know) were gathered together in a certain spot, which was next to the prettiest spot in the world.

"you should have had the prettiest, pink," said hilda, "but we could not get your chair down into the glen, you know. my poor, dear pink, you have never seen the glen, have you?"

"no," answered pink chirk, cheerily. "but i have heard so much about it, i really feel as if i had seen it, almost. and indeed i don't think it can be much lovelier than this place."

however that might be, the place they had chosen was certainly pretty enough to satisfy any one. not far from mrs. chirk's cottage was a little pine-grove, easy of access, and with trees far enough apart to allow the wheeled chair to pass between them. and in the grove, just in a little open space where two or three trees had been cut away, was a great black rock, with ferns growing in all its cracks and crannies, and a tiny birch-tree waving like a green and white plume on its top. and at the foot of the rock—oh, what a wonderful thing!—a slender thread of crystal water came trickling out, as cold as ice and as clear as—as itself; for nothing else could be so clear. bubble had made a little wooden trough to hold this fairy stream, and it gurgled along the trough and tumbled over the end of it with as much agitation and consequence as if it were the niagara river in person. and under the rock and beside the stream was a bank of moss and ferns most lovely to behold, most luxurious to sit upon. on this bank sat queen hildegarde, with bubble at her feet as usual; and beside her, in her chair, sat sweet pink, looking more like a white rose than ever, with her fresh white dimity gown and her pretty hat. hilda was very busy over a mysterious-looking basket, from whose depths she now drew a large napkin, which she spread on the smooth green moss. a plate of sandwiches came next, and some cold chicken, and six of dame hartley's wonderful apple-turnovers.

"now, bubble," said hilda, "where are those birch-bark cups that you made for us? i have brought nothing to drink out of."

"i'll fetch 'em, miss hildy," cried bubble, springing up with alacrity. "i clean forgot 'em. say, pink, shall i—? would you?" and he made sundry enigmatical signs to his sister.

"yes, certainly," said pink; "of course."

the boy ran off, and hilda fell to twisting pine tassels together into a kind of fantastic garland, while pink looked on with beaming eyes.

"pink," said hilda, presently, "how is it that you speak so differently from bubble and your mother,—so much better english, i mean? have you—but no; you told me you never went to school."

"it was faith," said pink, with a look of tender sadness,—"faith hartley. she wanted to be a teacher, and we studied together always. dear faith! i wish you had known her, miss graham."

"you promised not to call me miss graham again, pink," said hildegarde, reproachfully. "it is absurd, and i won't have it."

"well, hilda, then," said pink, shyly. "i wish you had known faith, hilda; you would have loved her very much, i know."

"i am sure i should," said hilda, warmly. "tell me more about her. why did she want to teach when she was so happy at home?"

"she loved children very much," said pink, "and liked to be with them. she thought that if she studied hard, she could teach them more than the district school teachers about here generally do, and in a better way. i think she would have done a great deal of good," she added, softly.

"oh! why did she die?" cried hilda. "she was so much needed! it broke her father's heart, and her mother's, and almost yours, my pink. why was it right for her to die?"

"it was right, dear," said pink, gently; "that is all we can know. 'why' isn't answered in this world. my granny used to say,—

"'never lie!

never pry!

never ask the reason why!'"

hilda shook her head, and was about to reply earnestly; but at this moment bubble came bounding back with something in his arms,—something covered with an old shawl; something alive, which did not like the shawl, and which struggled, and made plaintive little noises, which the boy tried vainly to repress.

"say, miss hildy," he cried, eagerly, "do ye like—be still, ye critter; hesh, i tell ye!—do you like purps?"

"'say, miss hildy,—do you like purps?'"

"'say, miss hildy,—do you like purps?'"

"'purps,' bubble?" repeated hilda, wonderingly. "what are they? and what have you there,—your poor old cat? let her go! for shame, you naughty boy!"

"puppies, he means," whispered pink.

"'cause if ye do," cried the breathless bubble, still struggling with his shrouded captive, "i've got one here as—wal, thar! go 'long, ye pesky critter, if ye will!" for the poor puppy had made one frantic effort, and leaped from his arms to the ground, where it rolled over and over, a red and green plaid mass, with a white tail sticking out of one end. on being unrolled, it proved to be a little snow-white, curly creature, with long ears and large, liquid eyes, whose pathetic glance went straight to hilda's heart.

"oh, the little darling!" she cried, taking him up in her arms; "the pretty, pretty creature! is he really for me, bubble? thank you very much. i shall love him dearly, i know."

"i'm glad ye like him," said bubble, looking highly gratified. "hosy grout giv him an' another one to me yes'day, over 't the village. he was goin' to drownd 'em, an' i wouldn' let him, an' he said i might hev 'em ef i wanted 'em. i knew pink would like to hev one, an' i thought mebbe you liked critters, an' so—"

"good bubble!" said hilda, stroking the little dog's curly head. "and what shall i call him, pink? let us each think of a name, and then choose the best."

there was a pause, and then bubble said, "call him scott, after the bold buckle-oh!"

"or will, for 'the wily belted will,'" said pink, who was as inveterate a ballad-lover as her brother.

"i think jock is a good name," said hildegarde,—"jock o' hazeldean, you know. i think i will call him jock." the others assented, and the puppy was solemnly informed of the fact, and received a chicken-bone in honor of the occasion. then the three friends ate their dinner, and very merry they were over it. hildegarde crowned pink with the pine-tassel wreath, and declared that she looked like a priestess of diana.

"no, she don't," said bubble, looking up from his cold chicken; "she looks like lars porsena of clusium sot in his ivory cheer, on'y she ain't f'erce enough. hold up yer head, pinky, an' look real savage, an' i'll do horatius at the bridge."

pink did her best to look savage, and zerubbabel stood up and delivered "horatius" with much energy and appropriate action, to the great amusement of his audience. a stout stick, cut from a neighboring thicket, served for the "good roman steel;" and with this he cut and slashed and stabbed with furious energy, reciting the lines meanwhile with breathless ferocity. he slew the "great lord of luna," and on the imaginary body he—

"right firmly pressed his heel,

and thrice and four times tugged amain,

ere he wrenched out the steel."

but when he cried—

"what noble lucumo comes next

to taste our roman cheer?"

the puppy, who had been watching the scene with kindling eyes, and ears and tail of eager inquiry, could bear it no longer, but flung himself valiantly into the breach, and barked defiance, dancing about in front of horatius and snapping furiously at his legs. alas, poor puppy! he was hailed as "sextus," and bade "welcome" by the bold roman, who forthwith charged upon him, and drove him round and round the grove till he sought safety and protection in the lap of lars porsena herself. then the bridge came down, and horatius, climbing nimbly to the top of the rock, apostrophized his father tiber, sheathed his good sword by his side (i.e., rammed his stick into and through his breeches pocket), and with his jacket on his back plunged headlong in the tide, and swam valiantly across the pine-strewn surface of the little glade.

bubble's performance was much applauded by the two girls, who, in the characters of lars porsena and mamilius, "prince of the latian name," had surveyed the whole with dignified amazement. and when the boy, exhausted with his heroic exertions, threw himself down on the pine-needles and begged "miss hildy" to sing to them, she readily consented, and sang "jock o' hazeldean" and "come o'er the stream, charlie!" so sweetly that the little fat birds sat still on the branches to listen. a faint glow stole into pink's wan cheek, and her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure; while bubble bobbed his head, and testified his delight by drumming with his heels on the ground and begging for more. "a ballid now, miss hildy, please," he cried.

"well," said hildegarde, nothing loth, "what shall it be?"

"one with some fightin' in it," replied bubble, promptly.

so hildegarde began:—

"down deeside cam inverey,

whistling and playing;

he's lighted at brackley gates

at the day's dawing."

and went on to tell of the murder of "bonnie brackley" and of the treachery of his young wife:—

"there's grief in the kitchen,

and mirth in the ha';

but the baron o' brackley

is dead and awa'."

so the ballad ended, leaving bubble full of sanguinary desires anent the descendants of the false inverey. "i—i—i'd like jest to git holt o' some o' them fellers!" he exclaimed. "they wouldn't go slaughterin' round no gret amount when i'd finished with em', i tell ye!" and he flourished his stick, and looked so fierce that the puppy yelped piteously, expecting another onslaught.

"and now, pink," said hilda, "we have just time for a story before we go home. bubble has told me about your stories, and i want very much to hear one."

"oh, hilda, they are not worth telling twice!" protested pink; "i just make them for bubble when he takes me out on sunday. it's all i can do for the dear lad."

"don't you mind her, miss hildy," said bubble; "they're fustrate stories, an' she tells 'em jest like p—'rithmetic. go ahead, pink! tell the one about the princess what looked in the glass all the time."

so pink, in her low, sweet voice, told the story of

the vain princess.

once upon a time there lived a princess who was so beautiful that it was a wonder to look at her. but she was also very vain; and her beauty was of no use or pleasure to anybody, for she sat and looked in her mirror all day long, and never thought of doing anything else.

the mirror was framed in beaten gold, but the gold was not so bright as her shining locks; and all about its rim great sapphires were set, but they were dim and gray, compared with the blue of her lovely eyes. so there she sat all day in a velvet chair, clad in a satin gown with fringes of silver and pearl; and nobody in the world was one bit the better for her or her beauty.

now, one day the princess looked at herself so long and so earnestly that she fell fast asleep in her velvet chair, with the golden mirror in her lap. while she slept, a gust of wind blew the casement window open, and a rose that was growing on the wall outside peeped in. it was a poor little feeble white rose, which had climbed up the wall in a straggling fashion, and had no particular strength or beauty or sweetness. every one who saw it from the outside said, "what a wretched little plant! why is it not cut down?" and the rose trembled when it heard this, for it was as fond of life as if it were beautiful, and it still hoped for better days. inside, no one thought about it at all; for the beautiful princess never left her chair to open the window.

now, when the rose saw the princess it was greatly delighted, for it had often heard of her marvellous beauty. it crept nearer and nearer, and gazed at the golden wonder of her hair, her ivory skin under which the blushes came and went as she slept, and her smiling lips. "ah!" sighed the rose, "if i had only a tinge of that lovely red, i should be finer than all the other roses." and as it gazed, the thought came into its mind: "why should i not steal a little of this wondrous beauty? here it is of no use to anybody. if i had it, i would delight every one who passed by with my freshness and sweetness, and people would be the better for seeing a thing so lovely."

so the rose crept to the princess's feet, and climbed up over her satin gown, and twined about her neck and arms, and about her lovely golden head. and it stole the blush from her cheek, and the crimson from her lips, and the gold from her hair. and the princess grew pale and paler; but the rose blushed red and redder, and its golden heart made the room bright, and its sweetness filled the air. it grew and grew, and now new buds and leaves and blossoms appeared; and when at last it left the velvet chair and climbed out of the casement again, it was a glorious plant, such as had never before been seen. all the passers-by stopped to look at it and admire it. little children reached up to pluck the glowing blossoms, and sick and weary people gained strength and courage from breathing their delicious perfume. the world was better and happier for the rose, and the rose knew it, and was glad.

but when the princess awoke, she took up her golden mirror again, and looking in it, saw a pale and wrinkled and gray-haired woman looking at her. then she shrieked, and flung the mirror on the ground, and rushed out of her palace into the wide world. and wherever she went she cried, "i am the beautiful princess! look at me and see my beauty; for i will show it to you now!" but nobody looked at her, for she was withered and ugly; and nobody cared for her, because she was selfish and vain. so she made no more difference in the world than she had made before. but the rose is blossoming still, and fills the air with its sweetness.

"my pink," said hildegarde, tenderly, as she walked beside her friend's chair on their homeward way, "you are shut up like the princess; but instead of the rose stealing your sweetness, you have stolen the sweetness of all the roses, and taken it into your prison with you."

"i 'shut up,' hilda?" cried pink, opening wide eyes of wonder and reproach. "do you call this being shut up? see what i have had to-day! enough pleasure to think about for a year. and even without it,—even before you came, hilda,—why, i am the happiest girl in the world, and i ought to be."

hildegarde stooped and kissed the pale forehead. "yes, dear, i think you are," she said; "but i should like you to have all the pleasant and bright and lovely things in the world, my pink."

"well, i have the best of them," said pink chirk, smiling brightly,—"home and love, and friends and flowers. and as for the rest, why, dear hilda, what is the use in thinking about things one has not?"

after this, which was part of pink's little code of philosophy, she fell a-musing happily, while hilda walked beside her in a kind of silent rage, almost hating herself for the fulness of vigor, the superabundant health and buoyancy, which she felt in every limb. she looked sidelong at the transparent cheek, the wasted frame, the unearthly radiance of the blue eyes. this girl was just her own age, and had never walked! it could not, it must not, be so always. thoughts thronged into her mind of the great new york physicians and the wonders they had wrought. might it not be possible? could not something be done? the blood coursed more quickly through her veins, and she laid her hand on that of the crippled girl with a sudden impulse of protection and tenderness.

pink chirk looked up with a wondering smile. "why, hildegarde," she said, "you look like the british warrior queen you told me about yesterday. i was just thinking what a comfort it is to live now, instead of in those dreadful murdering times that the ballads tell of."

"i druther ha' lived then!" cried bubble, from behind the chair. "if i hed, i'd ha' got hold o' that inverey feller."