She slept as sleep the blossoms hushed
Amid the silent air."
The sun was peeping through the crevices of the rock-built cottage when old Dame Belcher, the fortune-teller, awoke on the following morning.
"Well, about time for me to be stirring these old bones," she murmured. "Good fees last night;" and here she drew a leather bag from beneath her pillow, and chuckled over its contents; "these little siller pieces will buy plenty of ribbons and gewgaws for hinny, so she can flaunt with the best of them at Parson Grey's school. She was asleep here last night when the young city chaps came, and don't know a word about their visit; I carried her off in my arms to her own little cot, after they were gone, and I'll creep into her room a moment now to see if she still sleeps."
Thus saying, the old woman slipped on her clothes, and, crossing a rude entry, lightly lifted a latch and entered a small, poor, though very tidy apartment. A broken table, propped against the rough, unplastered wall, contained a bouquet of wild flowers tastefully arranged, and placed in a bowl of clear water, some writing materials, and a few books piled neatly together. A fragrant woodbine formed a beautiful lattice-work over the rough-cut hole in the wall which answered for a window. Two chairs covered with faded chintz, and a small cot-bed dressed in white, completed the furnishing. On this latter, breathing softly in her quiet sleep, lay a lovely child, on whose fair, open brow eleven summers might have shed their roses. The old woman approached, and with her wrinkled palms smoothed away the heavy masses of chestnut hair that curled around her childish face.
"Bless it, how it sleeps this morning!" she said, in a low whisper; "but it must not have its little hands up here;" and she parted the tiny fingers that were locked above the graceful head, and laid them softly on the sleeper's breast. "I may as well go, while she sleeps so quietly, and gather a dish of the crimson berries she loves so well, for her breakfast; they will be nice with a dish of old Crummie's sweet milk;" and, pinning a green blanket over her head, the old woman went forth on her errand.
Meantime the child awoke, and, seeing the sunbeams stealing through the net-work of vines, and streaming so warm and bright over the rough, stone floor, started quickly from her couch, and, robing herself in a pink muslin frock, issued from her room, carolling a happy morning song. She sat down on a bench before the door of the cottage, and in a few moments her aunt appeared, bearing in one hand a white bowl filled with purple berries, and in the other a bucket of milk, all warm and frothing to the brim.
"O, then you are up, hinny!" she said, on seeing the child; "just look at what aunty has got for your breakfast. Now, you come in and pick over the berries with your little, nice, quick fingers, and I'll spread the table, strain the milk, and bake a bit of oaten cake, and we'll have a meal fit for a king."
The child obeyed readily, and soon the humble tenants of the rocky cottage were seated at their simple repast.
"I've some good news to tell you, Annie," said the woman, as she cut open a light, oaten cake, and spread a slice of rich, yellow butter over its smoking surface.