think about it, and collect your needles and
pencils."

Upon this they brought together a heap of articles which they were not
at all likely to want, and after altering the position of their stools
and discussing what they would do, and changing their minds many times,
declared at length that they were quite ready.

[Illustration: "LIVED ON THE BORDERS OF ONE OF THE GREAT AMERICAN
FORESTS."]

"Now begin, please. _There was once--_" So I accordingly began. "There
was once a boy who was very fond of pictures. There were not many
pictures for him to look at, for his mother, who was a widow, lived on
the borders of one of the great American forests. She had come out from
England with her husband, and now that he was dead, the few pictures
hanging on her walls were almost the only luxuries she possessed.

"Her son would often spend his holidays in trying to copy them, but as
he had very little application, he often threw his half-finished
drawings away, and once he was heard to say that he wished some
kind-hearted fairy would take it in hand and finish it for him.

"'Child,' said the mother, 'for my part I don't believe there are any
such things as fairies. I never saw one, and your father never did; but
by all accounts, if fairies there be, they are a jealous and revengeful
race. Mind your books, my child, and never mind the fairies.'

"'Very well, mother,' said the boy.

"'It makes me sad to see you stand gazing at the pictures,' said his
mother, coming up to him and laying her hand on his curly head; 'why,
child, pictures can't feed a body, pictures can't clothe a body, and a
log of wood is far better to burn and warm a body.'

"'All that is quite true, mother,' said the boy.

"'Then why do you keep looking at them, child?'

"The boy hesitated, and then answered, 'I don't know, mother.'

"'You don't know! nor I neither. Why, child, you look at the dumb things
as if you loved them. Put on your cap and run out to play.'

"So the boy went out, and wandered toward the forest till he came to the
brink of a sheet of water. It was too small to be called a lake, but it
was deep, clear, and overhung with crowds of trees. It was evening, and
the sun was getting low. There was a narrow strip of land stretching out
into the water. Pine-trees grew upon it; and here and there a plane-tree
or a sumach dipped its large leaves over, and seemed intent on watching
its own clear reflection.

"The boy stood still, and thought h