water searching
for his son. Then, about noon, when he had worked his way far down the
river, he caught sight of something which made his heart stand still. In
a brown pool, in which a half-submerged willow-tree grew, he saw a large
grayish shape which resembled a horse. He stretched out the boat-hook
and rolled it over. Dumbly, fearlessly, he stood staring into the pool.
There lay his son--there lay Bonnyboy stark and dead.

The cold perspiration broke out upon Grim's brow, and his great breast
labored. Slowly he stooped down, drew the dead body out of the water,
and tenderly laid it across his knees. He stared into the sightless
eyes, and murmuring a blessing, closed them. There was a large
discolored spot on the forehead, as of a bruise. Grim laid his hand
softly upon it, and stroked away the yellow tuft of hair.

"My poor lad," he said, while the tears coursed down his wrinkled
cheeks, "you had a weak head, but your heart, Bonnyboy--your heart was
good."

THE CHILD OF LUCK

I.

A sunny-tempered little fellow was Hans, and his father declared that he
had brought luck with him when he came into the world.

"He was such a handsome baby when he was born," said Inga, his mother;
"but you would scarcely believe it now, running about as he does in
forest and field, tearing his clothes and scratching his face."

Now, it was true, as Hans's mother said, that he did often tear his
clothes; and as he had an indomitable curiosity, and had to investigate
everything that came in his way, it was also no uncommon thing for him
to come home with his face stung or scratched.

"Why must you drag that child with you wherever you go, Nils?" the
mother complained to Hans's father, when the little boy was brought to
her in such a disreputable condition. "Why can't you leave him at home?
What other man do you know who carries a six-year-old little fellow
about with him in rain and shine, storm and quiet?

"Well," Nils invariably answered, "I like him and he likes me. He brings
me luck."

This was a standing dispute between Nils and Inga, his wife, and they
never came to an agreement. She knew as well as her husband that before
little Hans was born there was want and misery in their cottage.
But from the hour the child lifted up its tiny voice, announcing its
arrival, there had been prosperity and contentment. Their luck had
turned, Nils said, and it was the child that had turned it. They had
been married for four y