d, "it is a lovely spot, and if only father
could have stayed, I wouldn't mind."

Her tone was one of discontent. Her face was not beautiful, and its
plainness was increased by a kind of sullen gloom that had become its
habit. After gazing across the lake for some minutes she turned her
horse and cantered toward a little cluster of buildings of all sizes
and shapes that huddled about the end of the lake and constituted Loon
Lake village. As she drew near the largest of the houses, which was
dignified by the name of Loon Lake Stopping Place, she came upon a
group of children gathered about a little cripple of about seven or
eight years of age, but so puny and poorly developed that he appeared
much younger. The little lad was sobbing bitterly, shrieking oaths and
striking savagely with his crutch at the children that hemmed him in.
The girl sprang off her pony.

"Oh, shame on you!" she exclaimed, rushing at them. "You bad children,
to tease poor Patsy so. Be off with you. Come, Patsy, never mind them.
I am going to tell you a story."

"He was throwin' stones at us, so he was," said his brother, a sturdy
little red-headed lad of six. "And he hit Batcheese right on the leg,
too."

"He pu--pu--pulled down my mountain right to the ground," sobbed Patsy,
lifting a pale, tear-stained face distorted with passion.

"Never mind, Patsy," she said soothingly, "I'll help you to build it up
again."

"And they all laughed at me," continued Patsy, still sobbing stormily.
"And I'll knock their blank, blank heads off, so I will!" And Patsy
lifted his crutch and shook it at them in impotent wrath.

"Hush, hush, Patsy! you must not say those awful words," said the girl,
laying her hand over his mouth and lifting him onto her knee.

"Yes, I will. And I just wish God would send them to hell-fire!"

"Oh, Patsy, hush!" said the girl. "That's awful. Never, never say such
a thing again."

"I will!" cried Patsy, "and I'll ask God to-night, and mother said He
would if they didn't leave me alone."

"But, Patsy, you must not say nor think those awful things. Come now
and I'll tell you a story."

"I don't want a story," he sobbed. "Sing."

"Oh, I'll tell you a story, Patsy. I'll come into the house to-night
and sing for you."

"No, sing," said the little lad imperiously, and so the girl began to
sing the thrilling love story of The Frog and The Mouse, till not only
was Patsy's pale face wreathed in smiles, but the other children were