with her bright imaginings. And so
engrossed was she with castle-building, that it was only when she
stopped to climb a fence separating the road from a field through which
lay a short cut to Aunt Violet's cabin, that she became aware of her
small attendant.

"Why, Sawney, who told you to come?" she questioned, as she sprang to
the ground on the other side. The little fellow slowly and carefully
mounted the fence, balancing his fat body on the top rail as he turned
circumspectly in order to scramble down. When the landing had been
safely effected, he peered up at her with twinkling eyes, and
announced, with the air of one imparting gratifying intelligence:
"Nobody. I tum myse'f. I dwine long-er you."

"There are sheep in this field; you'd better run home. They'll scare
you to death."

"Ain't 'feard," was the valiant response.

Pocahontas wrinkled up her brows; it was almost too far to send him
back alone, and there was no one passing along the road who could
escort him to the home gate--even if he would go, which was unlikely.
It would not do to start him home with the certainty that he would
return, the instant her eye was off him, and stand by the fence,
peeping through the cracks until she should get back to him. Since he
had followed her so far, it would be better to let him go all the way.

"Come, then," she said, doubtfully, "I suppose I must take you,
although you had no business to follow me. If the sheep come after us,
Sawney, remember that you're not afraid. You must not cry, or hold on
to my dress with your dirty little hands. Do you hear?"

"Ya-m," acquiesced Sawney, with suspicious readiness, resuming his line
of march behind her.

They pursued their way uneventfully until they had reached the middle
of the field when the catastrophe, which Pocahontas had anticipated,
occurred. A flock of sheep peacefully grazing at a little distance,
suddenly raised their heads, and advanced with joyful bleating,
evidently regarding the pair as ministering spirits come to gratify
their saline yearning. Sawney--perjured Sawney! all unmindful of his
promise, no sooner beheld their advance, than he halted instantly, the
muscles of his face working ominously.

"Come on, Sawney," urged the young lady, encouragingly, "the sheep
won't hurt you: they think we have salt for them; come on."

But Sawney had no confidence in the explanation, and plainly
discredited the statement of the animals' lack of hostile