The next morning, when he awoke, the old man was gone. He had taken with him the golden cup. And the sentinel was also gone, none knew whither. Perhaps the old man had turned his golden cup into a golden key.
THE WATER-LILY
My father and mother were gone out for the day, and had left me charge of the children. It was very hot, and they kept up a continual fidget. I bore it patiently for some time, for children will be restless in hot weather, but at length I requested that they would get something to do.
"Why don't you work, or paint, or read, Hatty?" I demanded of my little sister.
"I'm tired of always grounding those swans," said Harriet, "and my crochet is so difficult; I seem to do it quite right, and yet it comes wrong."
"Then why don't you write your diary?"
"Oh, because Charlie won't write his."
"A very bad reason; his not writing leaves you the more to say; besides, I thought you promised mamma you would persevere if she would give you a book."
"And so we did for a long time," said Charlie; "why, I wrote pages and pages of mine. Look here!"