dded, by
way of explanation.

A half smile crossed his face, but its melancholy haunted the little
girl long afterward.

Then she went over to the closet, and soon found her missing volumes,
and uttered her gentle Good-afternoon. Mrs. Clemm had folded her sewing,
and came out on the porch where the water-pail stood empty, so she
started to the well.

"Please thank your cousin for her kindness," she said in a soft tone. "I
am glad she is fond of books."

The modern realistic school, or even the analytic school, would flout
Madame Cottin's old novel of "The Saracen" to-day. Perhaps in the year
two thousand the novels of to-day will be wondered at. The next morning,
the little girl was up in her eyrie in the corner of the porch, and
began her story. She was deeply interested in the Crusaders as well.
Richard, Saladin, and his noble and knightly brother Melek held her
spell-bound. She let the patchwork lie unheeded.

Queen Joan, Richard's sister, beautiful and unfortunate in her marriage,
almost a prisoner for years, rescued and taken to the Holy Land in
company with Berengaria, and treated with Oriental suavity and honour,
and loved by Melek Adel, indeed, almost married to him, though history
considers it only as one of the many feints of Eastern diplomacy, roused
all Hanny's youthful ardour. And Saladin's young nephew, taking
knighthood at Richard's hands on Easter morning, was so striking a
picture that the child could not understand why Turks and Christians
should be bitter enemies, when friendships like this could be cemented,
and apparently appreciated by men of such qualities.

She lost interest in the "Grumbler," and I am afraid her mind wandered
as she read aloud. She was really glad that for several days there were
no children to play with. She sat out of doors, and was pretty sure that
would answer Doctor Joe's requirements; and the Major took her out
driving, but she smuggled in her book. She was not quite so pale, though
that might have been due to sun-burn.

She had just finished her enchanting story one morning, and was glancing
idly down the hill, watching the toilers who bent over as if they were
carrying heavy loads, or drawing something behind them. Physical culture
had not yet been applied to the fine art of walking.

A barouche, drawn by two nodding horses, came slowly along. There were
four ladies in it; but one especially attracted the child. She wore a
gown of softest cerulean blue, a bonne