ur hearts. Our
best thoughts are good fairies; and our worst thoughts are evil
fairies."

"Oh, yes, auntie, I know! When we go bathing in the ocean, Susy says,
'Let's be all clean, so the spirit of the water can enter our hearts.'
And it does; but it goes in by our noses."

Mrs. Clifford had tacitly given her consent to Grace's copying the
stories. This task was performed accordingly, much to the disgust of
Horace, who declared that of the whole number only the tale of "Wild
Robin" was worth reading.

"And 'Wild Robin,'" said Grace, instructively, "is the only one that
has a moral for you, Horace. When our soldiers are starving so, it is
really dreadful to see how you dislike corned beef and despise
vegetables! Such a dainty boy as you needs to be stolen a while by the
fairies."

"Well, Gracie, I reckon you'd run double-quick to pull me off the
milk-white steed. You couldn't get along without me two days. Look
here! what story has a moral for you, miss? It's the 'Water-kelpie.'
You are like the man that married Moneta: you're always wanting
money."

"But it's for the soldiers, Horace," said Grace, with a smile of
forbearance toward her brother. "I'm willing to give all my
pocket-money; and I mean the other girls shall. If we're stingy to our
country these days, we ought to be shot! 'Princess Hilda's' the best
story in the book. I wish Isa Harrington could read it! She wouldn't
make any more mischief between Cassy and me!"

"I like 'The Lost Sylphid' the best," said Prudy; "but _was_ she a
great butterfly, do you s'pose? The stories are all just as nice; just
like book stories. I shouldn't think anybody made 'em up. Aunt 'Ria
can write as good as the big girls to the grammar-school. I promised
not to believe a single word; and I sha'n't. I'm glad she called it
_my_ Fairy Book."

CRISTOBAL.

A CHRISTMAS LEGEND.

Long ago, in fair Burgundy, lived a lad named Cristobal. His large
dark eyes lay under the fringe of his lids, full of shadows; eyes as
lustrous as purple amethysts, and, alas! as sightless.

He had not always been blind, as perhaps a wild and passionate lad,
named Jasper, might have told you. On a certain Christmas Eve, a merry
boy was little Cristobal, as he pattered along to church, trying with
his wooden shoes to keep time to the dancing bells. In his hand he
carried a Christmas candle of various colors. Never, he thought, was
a rainbow so exquisitely tinted as that candle. Carefully he