ity, and her fair
hair resembled gold in the vagrant gleams of sunlight which stole
through the boughs, drooping their odorous blossoms over her, and
scattering the delicate rosy-snow leaves on the book she held.

That book was a volume of Scotch songs, and against the rough back the
little hand of Belle-bouche resembled a snow-flake.

Jacques caught his breath, and bowed and fell, so to speak, beside
her.

"You came near walking into the brook," said Belle-bouche, with her
languishing smile; "what, pray, were you thinking of?"

"Of you," sighed Jacques.

The little beauty blushed.

"Oh, then your time was thrown away," she said; "you should not busy
yourself with so idle a personage."

"Ah!" sighed Jacques, "how can I help it?"

"What a lovely day!" said Belle-bouche, in order to divert the
conversation. "Aunt and myself thought we'd come down to the quarters
and see the sick. I carried mammy Lucy some nice things, and aunt went
on to see about some spinning, and I came here to look over this book
of songs, which I have just got from London."

"Songs?" said Jacques, with deep interest, and bending down until his
lips nearly touched the little hand; "songs, eh?"

"Scottish songs," laughed Belle-bouche; "and when you came I was
reading this one, which seems to be the chronicle of a very
unfortunate gentleman."

With which words Belle-Bouche, laughing gaily, read:

"Now Jockey was a bonny lad
As e'er was born in Scotland fair;
But now, poor man, he's e'en gone woad,
Since Jenny has gart him despair.

"Young Jockey was a piper's son,
And fell in love when he was young;
But a' the spring that he could play
Was o'er the hills and far away!"

And ending, Belle-bouche handed the book, with a merry little glance,
to Jacques, who sighed profoundly.

"Yes, yes!" he murmured, "I believe you are right--true, it _is_ about
a very unfortunate shepherd--all lovers are unfortunate. These seem to
be pretty songs--very pretty."

And he disconsolately turned over the leaves; then stopped and began
reading.

"Here is one more cheerful," he said; "suppose I read it, my dear Miss
Belle-bouche."

And he read:

"'Twas when the sun had left the west,
And starnies twinkled clearie, O,
I hied to her I lo'e the best,
My blithesome, winsome dearie, O.

"Her cherry lip, her e'e sae blue,
Her dimplin' cheek sae bonnie, O,
An' 'boon them a