n visiting
England. It is a great country. The old clergyman sat among his
azaleas and rhododendrons and listened to all my story. Then he took
the box that held his daughter's jewels, and, emptying it upon the
table, chose out one necklace and set it aside. 'This one,' said he,
'shall be sold, my friend, and with the money you shall, after giving
this girl a marriage portion, re-adorn your church on Ile Lezan to
the greater glory of God!'"

On our way back to his lodging the little Cure halted me before the
cottage. Gay curtains hung in the windows, and the veranda had been
freshly painted.

"At the end of the month Lucien gets his relief, and then they are to
be married," said the little Cure.

THE WREN.

A LEGEND.

Early on St. Stephen's Day--which is the day after Christmas--young
John Cara, son of old John Cara, the smith of Porthennis, took down
his gun and went forth to kill small birds. He was not a sportsman;
it hurt him to kill any living creature. But all the young men in
the parish went slaughtering birds on St. Stephen's Day; and the
Parson allowed there was warrant for it, because, when St. Stephen
had almost escaped from prison, a small bird (by tradition a wren)
had chirped, and awakened his gaolers.

Strange to say, John Cara's dislike of gunning went with a singular
aptitude for it. He had a quick sense with birds; could guess their
next movements just as though he read their minds; and rarely missed
his aim if he took it without giving himself time to think.

Now the rest of youths, that day, chose the valley bottoms as a
matter of course, and trooped about in parties, with much whacking of
bushes. But John went up to Balmain--which is a high stony moor
overlooking the sea--because he preferred to be alone, and also
because, having studied their ways, he knew this to be the favourite
winter haunt of the small birds, especially of the wrens and the
titlarks.

His mother had set her heart on making a large wranny-pie (that is,
wren-pie, but actually it includes all manner of birdlings). It was
to be the largest in the parish. She was vain of young John's
prowess, and would quote it when old John grumbled that the lad was
slow as a smith. "And yet," said old John, "backward isn't the word
so much as foolish. Up to a point he understands iron 'most so well
as I understand it myself. Then some notion takes him, and my back's
no sooner turned than he spoils his job. Always t