nswered Lucilla.

"'There goes!' returned Bernard, snapping another; then, laying down
the knife, he took up the nail-passer, using it to bore a hole in the
board which formed the table of the root-house.

"'You must not do that,' said Lucilla, almost drawn out of her
patience.

"'Who says so?' answered Bernard.

"'It is mischief,' said Lucilla. 'It is papa's table; he will be vexed
if he sees it.'

"'What for?' said the tiresome boy.

"Lucilla did not answer.

"'What for?' repeated Bernard, throwing down the nail-passer, and
taking up the hammer, with which he knocked away on the place where he
had made the hole.

"'Oh, my beads!' cried his sister; for the hammering had overturned the
little box in which they were, and she had only time to save them, or
most of them, from rolling down on the gravel.

"'Well,' said Bernard, 'if that does not please you, what can I do
next?'

"Lucilla sighed; she could not speak at the moment, she was so very
sad, and so much disappointed.

"'I thought,' said Bernard, after a minute, 'that you promised me a
pleasure. What is it?'

"Lucilla's eyes filled with tears; she rubbed them hastily away, and
went on working, though without any delight in her work.

"Bernard yawned, then stretched; and after a while he said:

"'Come, Lucilla, let us have a walk.'

"'Anything,' thought Lucilla, 'that will put you into a better state of
mind.' So she gathered up her work, put it into her basket, and arose,
leaving the tools and the work on her table; then, giving one sad look
at her grotto, she led the way to a wicket not very far off, which
opened on a path made by her father through some part of the large and
beautiful wood which skirted part of the garden. Bernard followed her,
and they went on together for some time in silence.

"The path first led them down into a deep hollow, through the bottom of
which ran a pure stream of water, which had its source in the hills
above. The rays of the sun, which here and there shone through the
trees, sparkled and danced in the running stream. A gentle breeze was
rustling among the leaves; and besides the song of many birds, the
clear note of the cuckoo was heard from some distance.

"The path led them to a little bridge of a single plank and a
hand-rail, over which they crossed, and began to go up still among
woods to the other side, where the bank was very much more steep.

"Still they spoke not: Lucilla was thinking of Bernard, and