us she journeyed on, till she reached the forest where Thistledown
had lost his freedom. She unbound the starving dragon-fly, and tended
the wounded birds; but though all learned to love her, none could tell
where the Brownies had borne her friend, till a little wind came
whispering by, and told her that a sweet voice had been heard, singing
Fairy songs, deep in a moss-grown rock.

Then Lily-Bell went seeking through the forest, listening for the
voice. Long she looked and listened in vain; when one day, as she was
wandering through a lonely dell, she heard a faint, low sound of
music, and soon a distant voice mournfully singing,--

"Bright shines the summer sun,
Soft is the summer air;
Gayly the wood-birds sing,
Flowers are blooming fair.

"But, deep in the dark, cold rock,
Sadly I dwell,
Longing for thee, dear friend,
Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell!"

"Thistle, dear Thistle, where are you?" joyfully cried Lily-Bell,
as she flew from rock to rock. But the voice was still, and she
would have looked in vain, had she not seen a little vine, whose green
leaves fluttering to and fro seemed beckoning her to come; and as she
stood among its flowers she sang,--

"Through sunlight and summer air
I have sought for thee long,
Guided by birds and flowers,
And now by thy song.

"Thistledown! Thistledown!
O'er hill and dell
Hither to comfort thee
Comes Lily-Bell."

Then from the vine-leaves two little arms were stretched out to her,
and Thistledown was found. So Lily-Bell made her home in the shadow
of the vine, and brought such joy to Thistle, that his lonely cell
seemed pleasanter to him than all the world beside; and he grew daily
more like his gentle friend. But it did not last long, for one day
she did not come. He watched and waited long, for the little face
that used to peep smiling in through the vine-leaves. He called and
beckoned through the narrow opening, but no Lily-Bell answered; and
he wept sadly as he thought of all she had done for him, and that now
he could not go to seek and help her, for he had lost his freedom
by his own cruel and wicked deeds.

At last he besought the silent Brownie earnestly to tell him
whither she had gone.

"O let me go to her," prayed Thistle; "if she is in sorrow, I will
comfort her, and show my gratitude for all she has done for me: dear
Brownie, set me free, and when she is found I will come and be your
prisoner again.