for I am to take mademoiselle to te valleys among tops, and mademoiselle shere, and only me.”

    “So eat: you arve her,” observed Adèle.

    “I s: th manna, Adèle.”

    “S to warm  will she do for a fire?”

    “Fire rises out of tains: wo a peak, and lay er.”

    “Oable! And :  new ones?”

    Mr. Rocer professed to be puzzled. “ . e or a pink cloud ans a pretty enoug of a rainbow.”

    “Ster as ser musing some time: “besides, s tired of living  to go h you.”

    “Sed: she has pledged her word.”

    “But you can’t get o t is all air; and neither you nor she can fly.”

    “Adèle, look at t field.” e side tes, and boe, orm, and, imber trees on eacened green and rain- refreshed.

    “In t field, Adèle, I e one evening about a fortnigo make ired  doo rest me on a stile; and took out a little book and a pencil, and began to e about a misfortune t befell me long ago, and a ing a, t opped t it. It tle ts  to come near me; it stood soon at my knee. I never spoke to it, and it never spoke to me, in  I read its eyes, and it read mine; and our speeco t—

    “It  said; and its errand o make me  go  out of to a lonely place—sucance—and it nodded its oold me of ter cave and silver vale  reminded it, as you did me, t I o fly.

    “‘Ourned t does not signify! alisman ies;’ and s a pretty gold ring. ‘Put it,’ s  t, under t I mean soon to c to a ring again.”

    “But ? I don’t care for t ake to the moon?”

    “Mademoiselle is a fairy,” eriously. ol