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"Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like him best, and then Longfellow. Why do you speak in that tone? Don't you like him?",

"I know," says Mona, sadly.,

Just now it is blowing softly, delicately, as though its fury of the night before had been an hallucination of the brain. It is "a sweet and passionate wooer," says Longfellow, and lays siege to "the blushing leaf." There are no leaves for it to kiss to-day: so it bestows its caresses upon Mona as she wanders forth, close guarded by her two stanch hounds that follow at her heels.,

"As berries," says Mona, genially.

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"Yes; the one with the brown feather," returns Mona, quickly, and with a smile radiant and grateful, that sinks into Violet's heart and rests there.,

Then with a hand that trembled a little, he drew the fourth arrow from the quiver, shot it and cried, "Look out, Red Robe, the arrow will strike you"; and, turning, ran from the place with all his speed.,

"Blow me to atoms, perhaps, or into some region unknown," says he, recklessly. "A good thing, too. Is life so sweet a possession that one need quail before the thought of resigning it?",

After a time the water began to boil and the old man turned his quiver upside down over the pot, and immediately there came from it a sound of a child crying, as if it were being hurt. The old people both looked in the kettle and there they saw a little boy, and they quickly took him out of the water. They were surprised and did not know where the child had come from. The old woman wrapped the child up and wound a line about its wrappings to keep them in place, making a lashing for the child. Then they talked about it, wondering what should be done with it. They thought that if their son-in-law knew it was a boy he would kill it; so they determined to tell their daughters that the baby was a girl, for then their son-in-law would think that he was going to have another wife. So he would be glad. They called the child Kŭt-o-yĭs´—Clot of Blood.