oaning and bewailing, for her
heart's blood was oozing out through every wound his dagger had made,
for I told you his locks had taken root in her heart, and he cut the
cords when he slashed about among his own long, black hair.

"'I'm dying,' said the maiden. 'Oh, what would I give now for that
golden bed of the Saviour, the little child promised me.'

"Just then she heard the patter of little feet among the fallen leaves,
and looking up, there was the child, sure enough, right by her side, and
there was something bright and shining all around its head. How it found
its way out of the woods, the Lord only knows. Well, the child didn't
bear one bit of malice, for it was a holy child, and kneeling down, it
took a crystal vial from its bosom, and poured balm on the bleeding
heart of the maiden, and healed every wound.

"'You are a holy child,' said the maiden, rising up, and taking the
child in her arms, and pressing her close to her bosom. 'I know it by
the light around your head. I'll love all little children for your sake,
and nevermore mock the cry of sorrow or of want.'

"So they went away together into the deep woods, and one could see the
moon shining on them, every now and then, through the trees, and it was
a lovely sight."

There was silence for a few moments after Miss Thusa finished her
legend, for never had she related any thing so impressively.

"Oh, Miss Thusa," cried Helen, "that is the prettiest story I ever heard
you relate. I am glad the child was not lost, and I am glad that the
maiden did not die, but was sorry for what she had done."

"Do you make up your tales yourself, Miss Thusa," asked Louis, "or do
you remember them? I cannot imagine where they all come from."

"Some are the memories of my childhood;" replied she, "and some the
inventions of my own brain; and some are a little of one and a little of
the other; and some are the living truth itself. I don't always know
what I am going to say myself, when I begin, but speak as the spirit
moves. This shows that it is a gift--praise the Lord."

"Well, Miss Thusa, the spirit moves you to say that the little child
forgave the cruel maiden, and poured balm upon her bleeding heart,"
said Louis, with one of his own winning smiles.

"And you think an old woman should forgive likewise!" cried Miss Thusa,
looking as benignantly as she _could_ look upon the boy. "You are right,
you are right, but her heart don't bleed yet--_not yet_."

Mittie, bel