merry she was at times with her companions among the woods
and braes, though while they all were laughing, she only smiled; and the
passing traveller, who might pause a moment to bless the sweet creatures
in their play, could not but single out one face among the many fair, so
pensive in its paleness, a face to be remembered, coming from afar, like
a mournful thought upon the hour of joy!

Sister or brother of her own had she none--and often both her
parents--who lived in a hut by itself up among the mossy stumps of
the old decayed forest--had to leave her alone--sometimes even all
the day long, from morning till night. But she no more wearied in her
solitariness than does the wren in the wood. All the flowers were her
friends--all the birds. The linnet ceased not his song for her, though
her footsteps wandered into the green glade among the yellow broom,
almost within reach of the spray from which he poured his melody--the
quiet eyes of his mate feared her not when her garments almost touched
the bush where she brooded on her young. Shyest of the winged silvans,
the cushat clapped not her wings away on the soft approach of her
harmless footsteps to the pine that concealed her slender nest.
As if blown from heaven, descended round her path the showers of the
painted butterflies, to feed, sleep, or die--undisturbed by her--upon
the wild flowers--with wings, when motionless, undistinguishable from
the blossoms. And well she loved the brown, busy, blameless bees, come
thither for the honey-dews from a hundred cots sprinkled all over the
parish, and all high over-head sailing away at evening, laden and
wearied, to their straw-roofed skeps in many a hamlet-garden. The leal
of every tree, shrub, and plant, she knew familiarly and lovingly in its
own characteristic beauty; and was loath to shake one dew-drop from
the sweetbriar-rose. And well she knew that all nature loved her in
return--that they were dear to each other in their innocence--and that
the very sunshine, in motion or in rest, was ready to come at the
bidding of her smiles. Skilful those small white hands of hers among
the reeds, and rushes, and osiers--and many a pretty flower-basket
grew beneath their touch, her parents wondering on their return home
to see the handiwork of one who was never idle in her happiness.
Thus, early--ere yet but five years old--did she earn her mite for
the sustenance of her own beautiful life! The russet garb she wore she
herself had