the little creature could feast upon them. It peered at him with its bright little eyes, and even perched upon his shoulder. Never again did Arthur idly destroy any living creature of the woods—not the humblest weed or flower, bright-winged insect or speckled egg. Nor did he loiter again when sent upon errands. The elves thereafter left him in peace."
"Good-bye, dear Phil; I am off now. This is my last story."
"Where am I? Has the music stopped? Was it my wind harp—my poor little wind harp?"
"Why, Phil, your wind harp is broken. Did you not know that it fell from your window last night?" said Lisa, coming into the dining-room.
"No. I wonder if I shall ever see the wind fairy again?"
"Dreaming again, Phil?" said Lisa.
"You always think I dream, Lisa, whenever I speak of fairies."
"Do I, dear? Well, you must get ready now for Graham; he is coming to take you out on the lake. Miss Schuyler will not be home to
dinner, and we three are to have ours on Eagle Island."
Phil went up-stairs and gathered together the broken pieces of his wind harp. He folded each piece up carefully in paper, and put them all away. "No more fairy stories," he said to himself. "Well, I suppose I am getting beyond them, and must put up with sober facts; but they are not half so nice," he said, with a sigh—"Not half so nice." Then he took out his sketch-book and pencils, and prepared for work.