hen I'll say Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
John, four times over, without stopping, as Jabe told me to, and then
see how it turns out in the morning." ...

But the incantation was more soothing than the breath of Miss Vilda's
scarlet poppies, and before the magical verse had fallen upon the drowsy
air for the third time, Timothy was fast asleep, with a smile of hope on
his parted lips.

There was a sweet summer shower in the night. The soft breezes, fresh
from shaded dells and nooks of fern, fragrant with the odor of pine and
vine and wet wood-violets, blew over the thirsty meadows and golden
stubble-fields, and brought an hour of gentle rain.

It sounded a merry tintinnabulation on Samantha's milk-pans, wafted the
scent of dripping honeysuckle into the farmhouse windows, and drenched
the night-caps in which prudent farmers had dressed their haycocks.

Next morning, the green world stood on tiptoe to welcome the victorious
sun, and every little leaf shone as a child's eyes might shine at the
remembrance of a joy just past.

A meadow lark perched on a swaying apple-branch above Martha's grave,
and poured out his soul in grateful melody; and Timothy, wakened by
Nature's sweet good-morning, leaped from the too fond embrace of Miss
Vilda's feather-bed.... And lo, a miracle!... The woodbine clung close
to the wall beneath his window. It was tipped with strong young shoots
reaching out their innocent hands to cling to any support that offered;
and one baby tendril that seemed to have grown in a single night, so
delicate it was, had somehow been blown by the sweet night wind from its
drooping place on the parent vine, and, falling on the window-sill, had
curled lovingly round Gay's fairy shoe, and held it fast!

SCENE XI.

_The Honeysuckle Porch._

MISS VILDA DECIDES THAT TWO IS ONE TOO MANY, AND TIMOTHY BREAKS A
HUMMINGBIRD'S EGG.

It was a drowsy afternoon. The grasshoppers chirped lazily in the warm
grasses, and the toads blinked sleepily under the shadows of the steps,
scarcely snapping at the flies as they danced by on silver wings. Down
in the old garden the still pools, in which the laughing brook rested
itself here and there, shone like glass under the strong beams of the
sun, and the baby horned-pouts rustled their whiskers drowsily and
scarcely stirred the water as they glided slowly through its crystal
depths.

The air was fragrant with the odor of new-mown grass and the breath of
wild strawberries t