de."

The troop of happy children went on their way with the guinea-fowl and
the lamb. As they passed the shop where Susan had been shown the
pretty calicoes, the shopkeeper, who, you remember, was Rose's father,
came out. When he saw the lamb, and learned whose it was and heard its
story, he gave the children some pieces of colored ribbon, with which
Rose decorated Susan's favorite.

The children now once more moved on, led by Philip, who played
joyfully upon his pipe and tabor. Susan was working in her
summer-house, with her little pine table before her. When she heard
the sound of the music, she put down her work and listened. She saw
the crowd of children coming nearer and nearer. They had closed round
Daisy, so she did not see her pet, but as they came up to the
garden-gate she saw that Rose beckoned to her. Philip played as loud
as he could, that she might not hear, until the proper moment, the
bleating of the lamb. As Susan opened the gate, the children divided,
and first she saw, in the midst of her taller friends, little smiling
Mary, with the guinea-hen in her arms.

"Come on! come on!" cried Mary, as Susan started with joyful surprise;
"you have more to see."

At this instant the music paused. Susan heard the bleating of a lamb,
and pressing eagerly forward, she beheld poor Daisy. She burst into
tears. "I did not shed one tear when I parted with you, my dear little
Daisy," she said, "it was for my father and mother. I would not have
parted with you for any one else in the whole world. Thank you, thank
you all," she added to her companions, who were even gladder for her
in her joy than they had been sorry for her in her sorrow. "Now, if my
father was not to go away from us next week, and if my mother were
quite strong, I should be the happiest person in the world." As Susan
finished speaking, a voice behind the listening crowd cried, in a
rough tone, "Let us pass, if you please; you have no right to block
the road." This was the voice of Attorney Case, who was returning
with Barbara from his visit to the Abbey. He saw the lamb and tried to
whistle as he went on. Barbara also saw the guinea-hen and turned her
head another way. Even her new bonnet, in which she had expected to be
so much admired, now only served to hide her blushing face.

"I am glad she saw the guinea-hen," cried Rose, who now held it in her
hands.

"Yes," said Philip, "she'll not forget Mayday in a hurry."

"Nor I either, I hope," sai