"I am free! I am free, come and drink."

Then the maiden passed her hands above the old man's head and he grew small. A murmuring stream of water ran out of his mouth and his clothing turned to green leaves. Kneeling by his side she took from his bosom long sprays of odorous pink flowers and hid them among the leaves, she breathed upon them, saying as she did so:

"I give thee all my virtues and my sweetest breath, and all who would pluck thee must do so on bended knee."

She then moved away, leaving behind her an odorous pink trail, and wherever her moccasined feet left a print in the moist sod the trailing arbutus grows, and nowhere else.

OLD AUNT MARY'S.

James Whitcomb Riley.

Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,

In those old days of the lost sunshine

Of youth-when the Saturday's chores were through,

And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too,

And we went visiting, "me and you,"

Out to Old Aunt Mary's?

It all comes back so clear today!

Though I am as bald as you are gray-
Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,

We patter along in the dust again,

As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

We cross the pasture, and through the wood
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry,
And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing" sky,
And lolled and circled, as we went by

Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
And the long highway, with sunshine spread

As thick as butter on country bread,

Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead

Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

Why, I see her now in the open door,

Where the little gourds grew up the sides, and o'er

The clapboard roof. And her face-ah, me!

Wasn't it good for a boy to see

And wasn't it good for a boy to be

Out to Old Aunt Mary's?

And O my brother, so far away,
This is to tell you she waits today
To welcome us:-Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whispering, "Tell
The boys to come!"

And all is well

Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

THE FIRST SETTLER'S STORY.

Will Carleton.

Well, when I first infested this retreat,
Things to my view look'd frightful incomplete;
But I had come with heart-thrift in my song,
And brought my wife and plunder right along;

I hadn't a round-trip ticket to go back,
And if I had there was no railroad track;
And driving East was what I couldn't endure:
I hadn't started on a circular tour.

My girl-wife was as brave as she was good,
And helped me every blessed way she could;
She seem'd to take to every rough old tree,
As sing'lar as when first she took to me.
She kep' our little log house neat as wax,
And once I caught her fooling with my axe.
She hadn't the muscle (though she had the heart)
In outdoor work to take an active part;
She was delicious, both to hear and see,-
That pretty girl-wife that kep' house for me.

Well, neighborhood meant counties in those days;
The roads didn't have accommodating ways;
And maybe weeks would pass before she'd see-
And much less talk with-any one but me.
The Indians sometimes show'd their sun-baked faces,
But they didn't teem with conversational graces;
Some ideas from the birds and trees she stole,
But 'twasn't like talking with a human soul;
And finally I thought that I could trace
A half heart-hunger peering from her face.

One night, when I came home unusual late,
Too hungry and too tired to feel first-rate,
Her supper struck me wrong (though I'll allow
She hadn't much to strike with, anyhow);
And, when I went to milk the cows, and found
They'd wandered from their usual feeding ground,
And maybe'd left a few long miles behind 'em,
Flash-quick the stay-chains of my temper broke,
And in a trice these hot words I had spoke:
"You ought to've kept the animals in view,
And drove 'em in; you'd nothing else to do.
The heft of all our life on me must fall;
You just lie round, and let me do it all."

That speech,-it hadn't been gone half a minute
Before I saw the cold black poison in it;

And I'd have given all I had, and more,
To've only safely got it back in-door.

I'm now what most folks "well-to-do" would call:

I feel today as if I'd give it all,
Provided I through fifty years might reach
And kill and bury that half-minute speech.

She handed back no words, as I could hear;
She didn't frown; she didn't shed a tear;

Half proud, half crushed, she stood and look'd me o'er, Like someone she had never seen before!

But such a sudden anguish-lit surprise

I never viewed before in human eyes.

(I've seen it oft enough since in a dream;

It sometimes wakes me like a midnight scream.)

Next morning, when, stone-faced but heavy-hearted,

With dinner-pail and sharpen'd axe I started

Away for my day's work, she watch'd the door,

And followed me half way to it or more;

And I was just a-turning round at this,
And asking for my usual good-bye kiss;

But on her lip I saw a proudish curve,

And in her eye a shadow of reserve;

And she had shown-perhaps half unawares-
Some little independent breakfast airs;
And so the usual parting didn't occur,
Although her eyes invited me to her;
Or rather half invited, for she

Didn't advertise to furnish kisses free:
You always had-that is, I had-to pay

Full market price, and go more'n half the way.
So, with a short "Good-bye," I shut the door,
And left her as I never had before.

But, when at noon my lunch I came to eat,
Put up by her so delicately neat,—

Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had been,
And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd put in,-
"Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew they meant,—

It seem'd as if her kiss with me she'd sent;

Then I became once more her humble lover,

And said, "Tonight I'll ask forgiveness of her."

I went home overearly on that eve,
Having contrived to make myself believe,
By various signs I kind o' knew and guess'd,
A thunder-storm was coming from the west.
('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills the heart,
How many honest ones will take its part:

A dozen first-class reasons said 'twas right
That I should strike home early on that night.)

Half out of breath, the cabin door I swung,
With tender heart-words trembling on my tongue;
But all within look'd desolate and bare:
My house had lost its soul,-she was not there!
A pencil'd note was on the table spread,

And these are something like the words it said:

"The cows are strayed again, I fear,

I watch'd them pretty close; don't scold me, dear.

And where they are I think I nearly know;

I heard the bell not very long ago.

I've hunted for them all the afternoon;

I'll try once more,-I think I'll find them soon.
Dear, if a burden I have been to you,
And haven't help'd you as I ought to do,
Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead;
I've tried to do my best,—I have, indeed.
Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack,
And have kind words for me when I get back."

Scarce did I give this letter sight and tongue,-
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung,
And from the clouds a rough, deep growl proceeded:
My thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't needed.
I rushed out-door. The air was stain'd with black:
Night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back:
And everything kept dimming to the sight,
Save when the clouds threw their electric light:
When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the view,

I'd think I saw her,-knowing 'twas not true.

Through my small clearing dash'd wide sheets of spray, As if the ocean waves had lost their way;

Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made,

In the bold clamour of its cannonade.

And she, while I was shelter'd, dry, and warm,

Was somewhere in the clutches of this storm!

She who, when storm-frights found her at her best,

Had always hid her white face on my breast!

My dog, who'd skirmish'd round me all the day,
Now crouch'd and whimpering, in a corner lay;
I dragg'd him by the collar to the wali,

I press'd his quivering muzzle to a shawl,-
"Track her, old boy!" I shouted; and he whined,
Match'd eyes with me, as if to read my mind,
Then with a yell went tearing through the wood.
I follow'd him, as faithful as I could.

No pleasure trip was that, through flood and flame;
We raced with death; we hunted noble game.

All night we dragg'd the woods without avail;

The ground got drench'd,-we could not keep the trail
Three times again my cabin home I found,

Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound;
But each time 'twas an unavailing care:

My house had lost its soul; she was not there!

When, climbing the wet trees, next morning-sun
Laugh'd at the ruin that the night had done,
Bleeding and drench'd, by toil and sorrow bent,
Back to what used to be my home I went.
But, as I near'd our little clearing-ground,—
Listen! I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound.
The cabin door was just a bit ajar;

It gleam'd upon my glad eyes like a star.

"Brave heart," I said, "for such a fragile form!

She made them guide her homeward through the storm!" Such pangs of joy I never felt before.

"You've come!" I shouted, and rush'd through the door.

Yes, she had come, and gone again.

She lay

With all her young life crush'd and wrench'd away,-
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among,

Not far from where I kill'd her with my tongue.

The rain-drops glitter'd 'mid her hair's long strands,
The forest thorns had torn her feet and hands,

And 'midst the tears-brave tears-that one could trace
Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face,

I once again the mournful words could read, "I've tried to do my best,-I have, indeed."

And now I'm mostly done; my story's o'er;
Part of it never breathed the air before.
'Tisn't over-usual, it must be allowed,
To volunteer heart-story to a crowd,
And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears,
But you'll protect an old man with his years;
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach,
This is the sermon I would have it preach:

Boys flying kites haul in their white-wing'd birds: You can't do that way when you're flying words. "Careful with fire," is good advice we know: "Careful with words," is ten times doubly so. Thoughts unexpress'd may sometimes fall back dead, But God himself can't kill them when they're said! You have my life-grief; do not think a minute "Twas told to take up time. There's business in it. It sheds advice: whoe'er will take and live it, Is welcome to the pain it takes to give it.