ion is let down into the burying wave.

In a few moments the gate was shut, the green slope smiled in answer to
the mellow smile of the setting sun, the yellow birds frightened away by
the noisy groups, flew back to their nests, among the fragrant lilacs,
and the stream gurgled as calmly as if no costly wreck lay within its
bosom.

When the last beam of the sinking sun glanced upon her distaff, turning
the fibres to golden filaments, Miss Thusa paused, and the crank gave a
sudden, upward jerk, as if rejoiced at the coming rest. Putting her
wheel carefully in its accustomed corner, she descended the stairs, and
bent her steps to the bleaching ground. She met Helen at the gate, who
remembered the trysting hour.

"Bless the child," cried Miss Thusa, with a benevolent relaxation of her
harsh features, "she never forgets any thing that's to do for another.
Never mind getting the watering-pot now. There'll be a plenty of dew
falling."

Taking Helen by the hand she crossed the rustic bridge; but as she
approached the green, she slackened her pace and drew her spectacles
over her eyes. Then taking them off and rubbing them with her silk
handkerchief, she put them on again and stood still, stooping forward,
and gazing like one bewildered.

"Where is the thread, Miss Thusa?" exclaimed Helen, running before her,
and springing on the slope. "When did you take it away?"

"Take it away!" cried she. "Take it away! I never _did_ take it away.
But _somebody_ has taken it--stolen it, carried it off, every skein of
it--not a piece left the length of my finger, my finger nail. The vile
thieves!--all my winter's labor--six long months' work--dead and buried!
for all me--"

"Poor Miss Thusa!" said Helen, in a pitying accent. She was afraid to
say more--there was something so awe-inspiring in the mingled wrath and
grief of Miss Thusa's countenance.

"What's the matter?" cried a spirited voice. Louis appeared on the
bridge, swinging his hat in the air, his short, thick curls waving in
the breeze.

"Somebody's stolen all Miss Thusa's thread," exclaimed Helen, running to
meet him, "her nice thread, that was just white enough to put away. Only
think, Louis, how wicked!"

"Oh! Miss Thusa, it can't be stolen," said Louis, coming to the spot
where she stood, the image of indignant despair; "somebody has hidden it
to tease you. I'll help you to find it."

This seemed so natural a supposition, that Miss Thusa's iron features
relaxed a l