The place to find the wild bluebell, and where the lilies blow;
Shy violets tell me, as I pass, their buds are at my feet,
And through the lengthening meadow grass run murmurs soft and sweet.
Oh! I thank God that He doth bring such daily joy to me,
For even I can welcome spring, like happy girls who see.
MERLE’S CRUSADE.
By ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, Author of “Aunt Diana,” “For Lilias,” etc.
CHAPTER XXII.
UNCLE KEITH.
I had been obliged to defer my visit to Aunt Agatha for more than a fortnight, and it was not until an early day in October that I could find a leisure afternoon. I believe that only very busy and hard worked people really enjoy a holiday—listless and half occupied lives know nothing of the real holiday feeling and the joyousness of putting one’s work aside for a few hours of complete idleness.