ying it in good earnest.
Then how glad he was that he had not turned into the inviting by-path,
for his little rule showed how crooked and wrong it was,--whole yards
and yards away from the right; and he knew he must have met with some
mishap, or at the very least have wasted any amount of precious time
trying to retrace his steps and regain the place upon which he now
stood.

He was so relieved to think he had been saved from making such a sad
mistake that he began to whistle merrily, and in an instant the whole
world about him was bright of hue and joyous again, and looking, he
saw, to his amazement, that the bare branches were abud.

"It's spring," he cried happily, and leaped along his way toward the
right. In a flash the tempting little by-path had curled up like a
scroll and disappeared from view; and then Lionel knew that it had not
been real at all, but only imaginary, and he was more grateful than
ever that he had not followed its lead.

"Now, you good little rule," said he, addressing the shining object in
his hand, "I 'll put you in my breast-pocket and keep you safe and warm
next to my heart. Then you 'll be ready if I want you again." And he
was just about to thrust it in his bosom, when his eyes were caught by
something unusual upon its surface, and on examining it very closely he
saw, in exquisitely chased characters, the words,--

Nor sigh nor weep o'er thine own ills;
Such plaining earth with mourning fills.
Forget thyself, and thou shalt see
Thyself remembered blessedly.

For some time after he had read the lines he was plunged in thought.
They seemed to teach him a lesson that it took him some little time to
learn.

"I don't know why it should make the world sad if one complains," he
mused. "But I s'pose it does. I s'pose one has n't any right to make
things unpleasant for other people by crying about things. One ought
to be brave and not bother folks with one's troubles. Well, I 'll try
not to do so any more, because if it's going to make things so
unpleasant it can't be right."

And this last word seemed to link in his mind his escape from the
complaint of his loneliness and the by-path down which he did not turn;
and he was so long trying to unravel the mystery of the connection that
before he knew it he had almost stumbled into quite a bog, and there,
in front of him, sat a wee child,--just where two roads met,--and he
had well-nigh run over her in his carelessness.

"Oh