he scattering
rain-drops first fall upon it, and it scowls back at the storm-cloud, as
with knitted brows, when the winds are let loose. It talks, too, in its
own simple dialect, murmuring, as it were, with busy lips all the way to
the ocean, as children seeking the mother's breast and impatient of
delay. Prisoners who know what a flower or an insect has been to them in
their solitary cell, invalids who have employed their vacant minds in
studying the patterns of paper-hangings on the walls of their
sick-chambers, can tell what the river was to the lonely, imaginative
creature who used to sit looking into its depths, hour after hour, from
the airy height of the Fire-hang-bird's Nest.

Of late a thought had mingled with her fancies which had given to the
river the aspect of something more than a friend and a companion. It
appeared all at once as a Deliverer. Did not its waters lead, after long
wanderings, to the great highway of the world, and open to her the gates
of those cities from which she could take her departure unchallenged
towards the lands of the morning or of the sunset? Often, after a
freshet, she had seen a child's miniature boat floating down on its side
past her window, and traced it in imagination back to some crystal brook
flowing by the door of a cottage far up a blue mountain in the distance.
So she now began to follow down the stream the airy shallop that held her
bright fancies. These dreams of hers were colored by the rainbows of an
enchanted fountain,--the books of adventure, the romances, the stories
which fortune had placed in her hands,--the same over which the heart of
the Pride of the County had throbbed in the last century, and on the
pages of some of which the traces of her tears might still be seen.

The literature which was furnished for Myrtle's improvement was chiefly
of a religious character, and, however interesting and valuable to those
to whom it was adapted, had not been chosen with any wise regard to its
fitness for her special conditions. Of what use was it to offer books
like the "Saint's Rest" to a child whose idea of happiness was in
perpetual activity? She read "Pilgrim's Progress," it is true, with
great delight. She liked the idea of travelling with a pack on one's
back, the odd shows at the House of the interpreter, the fighting, the
adventures, the pleasing young ladies at the palace the name of which was
Beautiful, and their very interesting museum of curiosities.