take the little
orphans home."

"Patience, dear child," said the Motherkin, pleased at Laura's kind
wish.

"Yes, patience," reiterated Grim, twirling his tassel, and looking the
picture of delight.

"She does you credit, dear lady," said Grim, as Laura, after embracing
the Motherkin, and pressing both Grim's hands in her own, started out
with her staff in hand.

"Yes," said the old lady, "I am well pleased."

[Illustration: "SHE TURNED FROM TIME TO TIME AND THREW KISSES TO THEM."]

They watched the child's retreating form, as she turned from time to
time and threw kisses to them, till at last the glittering figure of
silver and blue was merged in the green of the forest foliage.

CHAPTER VII.

Laura's step was light and brisk, for she carried a light heart, she was
animated by a new purpose; the pleasure of doing good, or of only having
the wish to do good, was a new happiness to her, and as she walked she
trolled out a merry little song she had heard Nannette sing in the
nursery. When she grew weary, she sat down and made a wreath for her
hat; when she was thirsty, she drank from the little cup at her girdle,
for there was always a stream at hand, first on one side of the road,
then on the other, and the babbling of the brook was like a pleasant
voice telling her sweet stories. It seemed to whisper to her how glad
her mother would be to hear that she was getting to be a better child.
Then again it sang to her of the woods and the mosses, the wild-flowers
and the birds, and of its own busy life--how much it had to do to keep
all these pretty things refreshed and alive, and how it suffered when
the drought came, and the sun was scorching, and the little leaflets
withered on its brink; and as its voice became sad, and tears welled in
the child's eyes, it would suddenly seem to burst into a foam of
laughter and toss itself in tiny cascades over the pebbles. Then Laura
would laugh too, and forget all sadness. Then she would take off her
shoes and stockings and wade, and watch the flies dart hither and
thither as she dashed the drops apart. So the day went on. Her path grew
wilder, the woods more difficult to go through. Great masses of tangled
vines interlaced and hung low, reaching out their tendrils as if to
hinder her. Clouds gathered, and the skies were dark. A storm seemed
coming. The birds ceased twittering. Low mutterings of thunder, far
away, broke the stillness.

Laura's feet were aching, and h