mily, "is 'The History of the Orphan Boy,' and there
are a great many pictures in it: the first is a picture of a
funeral--that must be the funeral of the poor little boy's papa and
mamma, I suppose."

"Let me see, let me see," said Henry. "Oh, how pretty! And what's your
book, Lucy?"

"There are not many pictures in my book," said Lucy; "but there is one
at the beginning: it is the picture of a little boy reading to
somebody lying in a bed; and there is a lady sitting by. The name of my
book is 'The History of Little Henri, or the Good Son.'"

"Oh, that must be very pretty," said Henry.

By this time Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild were come up.

"Oh, papa! oh, mamma!" said the little ones, "what beautiful books John
has brought!"

"Indeed," said Mr. Fairchild, when he had looked at them a little
while, "they appear to be very nice books, and the pictures in them are
very pretty."

"Henry shall read them to us, my dears," said Mrs. Fairchild, "whilst
we sit at work; I should like to hear them very much."

"To-morrow," said Mr. Fairchild, looking at his wife, "we begin to make
hay in the Primrose Meadow. What do you say? Shall we go after
breakfast, and take a cold dinner with us, and spend the day under the
trees at the corner of the meadow? Then we can watch the haymakers, and
Henry can read the books whilst you and his sisters are sewing."

"Oh, do let us go! do let us go!" said the children; "do, mamma, say
yes."

"With all my heart, my dears," said Mrs. Fairchild.

The next morning early the children got everything ready to go into the
Primrose Meadow. They had each of them a little basket, with a lid to
it, in which they packed up their work and the new books; and, as soon
as the family had breakfasted, they all set out for the Primrose
Meadow: Mr. Fairchild, with a book in his pocket for his own reading;
Mrs. Fairchild, with her work-bag hanging on her arm; Betty, with a
basket of bread and meat and a cold fruit-pie; and the children with
their work-baskets and Emily's doll, for the little girls seldom went
out without their doll. The Primrose Meadow was not a quarter of a mile
from Mr. Fairchild's house: you had only the corner of a little copse
to pass through before you were in it. It was called the Primrose
Meadow because every spring the first primroses in the neighbourhood
appeared on a sunny bank in that meadow. A little brook of very clear
water ran through the meadow, rippling over the pebbles; and