lled a basin with water, and, taking
it to the blacksmith, said to him in a gentle tone-"Agricola--for your
hands."

"Thank you, little sister. How kind you are!" Then with a most
unaffected gesture and tone, he added, "There is my fine flower for your
trouble."

"Do you give it me?" cried the sempstress, with emotion, while a vivid
blush colored her pale and interesting face. "Do you give me this
handsome flower, which a lovely rich young lady so kindly and graciously
gave you?" And the poor thing repeated, with growing astonishment, "Do
you give it to me?"

"What the deuce should I do with it? Wear it on my heart, have it set as
a pin?" said Agricola, smiling. "It is true I was very much impressed by
the charming way in which the young lady thanked me. I am delighted to
think I found her little dog, and very happy to be able to give you this
flower, since it pleases you. You see the day has been a happy one."

While Mother Bunch, trembling with pleasure, emotion, and surprise, took
the flower, the young blacksmith washed his hands, so black with smoke
and steel filings that the water became dark in an instant. Agricola,
pointing out this change to the sempstress, said to her in a whisper,
laughing,-"Here's cheap ink for us paper-stainers! I finished some
verses yesterday, which I am rather satisfied with. I will read them to
you."

With this, Agricola wiped his hands naturally on the front of his
blouse, while Mother Bunch replaced the basin on the chest of drawers,
and laid the flower against the side of it.

"Can't you ask for a towel," said Frances, shrugging her shoulders,
"instead of wiping your hands on your blouse?"

"After being scorched all day long at the forge, it will be all the
better for a little cooling to-night, won't it? Am I disobedient,
mother? Scold me, then, if you dare! Come, let us see you."

Frances made no reply; but, placing her hands on either side of her
son's head, so beautiful in its candor, resolution and intelligence, she
surveyed him for a moment with maternal pride, and kissed him repeatedly
on the forehead.

"Come," said she, "sit down: you stand all day at your forge, and it is
late."

"So,--your arm-chair again!" said Agricola.--"Our usual quarrel every
evening--take it away, I shall be quite as much at ease on another."

"No, no! You ought at least to rest after your hard toil."

"What tyranny!" said Agricola gayly, sitting down. "Well, I preach like
a good apostle