and the wood, and the nut-copse, and the green meadows at the opposite side of the bridge, better than the churchyard or the street of the pretty village, or the trim avenues of Eltham House; but, best of all, they like Dame Burden's garden and cottage, which are about a quarter of a mile from the bridge.

Mary Browne never suffers them to go into any of the cottages without their mamma's leave; but Mrs. Eltham has said, "Mary, you may always take the young ladies into Dame Burden's cottage:" and the very evening they arrived at Eltham, they requested Mary to let them cross the bridge, and walk through the copse which leads to the dame's. Dame Burden's only daughter, Alice, is blind: she had not been always so, but lost her sight when she was about ten years old. Everybody loved Alice, she was so cheerful under affliction; and so industrious, although blind, that she was the principal support of her mother. She netted, and knitted, and plaited, singing all the time like a nightingale; and when she paused, it was to say an affectionate word to her mother, or a sentence of gratitude to God for His goodness to a poor blind girl.

When the young party arrived at the end of the copse, they perceived Alice seated at the cottage door, knitting so rapidly, that they could not distinguish how her fingers moved. Before they entered the cottage garden, Alice rose up to meet them. "Alice, Alice," exclaimed Chatterbox, "how did you know we were coming?"

Alice smiled: "O Miss Fanny," she answered, “I heard your voice ten minutes ago, in the wood."

"There, Chatterbox - Chatterbox!"- laughed her little

brother Harry; "Alice heard your voice above the hooting of the owls, and the rippling of the river, and the cackling of the geese, and the lowing of the cows, and the braying of the donkey."

"I wonder who is the Chatterbox now ?" said Fanny: "my tongue never went faster than that: did it, Alice?"

“I think it did, Miss," answered Alice, smiling so sweetly, as she turned her bright though sightless face towards the speaker-"I think it did; but fast or slow, it is a great pleasure to poor Alice to hear it again, and to hear you all: this is Miss Eltham, I know," she continued, stretching her hand in the direction where the eldest young lady stood. "Dear me! why you are as tall as I am! And there is Miss Sophia: and here is Miss Fanny: how you are grown, dear; and your hair it is as long again as it was when you left Eltham!"

Fanny ran from beneath her gentle hand, which was as soft and as white as her own mamma's, and bounded into the cottage, calling" Dame Burden! Dame Burden!" Although the dame was very deaf, she heard Fanny's voice, and greeted her most kindly. "Here is Dame Burden!" exclaimed the Chatterbox: "here she is, Sophy!-Mary! here is dear Dame Burden: but she is looking ill:" and, lowering her voice, so that the dame should not hear her, but at the same time quite forgetting, that, although Alice was blind, she was not deaf, she added: "I am sure she will not live long: she ought to have the doctor immediately. See how pale she is; and

how lame!"

“Oh, Miss Fanny, why will you speak so thoughtlessly?” said Mary. In a moment Fanny felt she had done wrong,

and saw how she had alarmed poor blind Alice: but spoken words cannot be recalled.

The poor blind girl, who loved her mother, not only because she was her mother, but because she was the only precious thing she had in the whole world to love, turned her sightless eyes quickly on the speaker, and as quickly tears gushed from them. "My mother ill!-pale!-lame!" she sobbed : "how can it be? her voice is not feebler than it was! I cannot feel paleness; and when I pass my hand over her dear face, it seems to me the same as ever. I can hear the halt when she walks, but I do not think it increases. Oh, ladies-Mary Browne-do tell me the truth; is my dear mother so changed?"

"Alice," said Miss Eltham, "I am very sorry that these thoughtless words, spoken by my heedless sister, should cause you so much emotion. We have been away for six months, and I really think that little Chatterbox has forgotten how your mother looked when we saw her last. I do not perceive any change, except that she may be a little paler; but I only wish, Alice, you could see how bright and animated the good dame is looking at this moment, and how anxious to find out what we are talking about: do not let her observe your tears, Alice; for she never could bear to see you in trouble." The poor blind girl wiped her eyes, and kissed Miss Eltham's hand; and Dame Burden bustled about to get them some fruit and goat's milk: while little Chatterbox, eager to repair the evil she had done, crept to the side of poor Alice.

"My sister is right," she said; "I dare say I did forget how she looked when we went away, which you must remember

is six months ago: and I am sure I did not mean to give you pain will you forgive me?" :

"Oh yes, Miss, to be sure I will," she replied: "but I am sure what you said is true. Hush!" and she listened for her mother's step. "Yes, she certainly presses more heavily upon that foot than she used. She is more lame, and yet I did not find it out before: she should have seen the doctor if I had." Indeed, Alice, you are mistaken," said Fanny; "she is as active and kind as possible."

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"Yes," observed the poor girl, in her soft low voice, "I well know she is kind, Miss-oh, so kind! I could not tell you all her acts of love and tenderness if I were to talk a whole summer day. She may not look so to you, Miss, but to me she seems bright as an angel."

Fanny could hardly forbear smiling at the idea that the brown, shrivelled woman, dressed in black stuff and a mob cap, was "bright as an angel;" but she had the prudence not to wound poor Alice a second time; and Mary Browne grieved to see the anxious expression that disturbed the ordinary calmness of Alice's face, and how she listened for every tone of her mother's voice and every step she made: at last, while the children were otherwise engaged, she drew close to her side. Alice," she said, "do not distress yourself because of Miss Fanny's words; they were spoken, as she too often speaks, foolishly; and I assure you there is no cause for your anxiety."

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"Mary," she answered, "I have often found that children's words are the words of truth, and I am convinced my mother is ill; but it cannot be that she will not live long;-surely God would not take her from me!"