right light, his countenance appeared stern and awful in its
beauty, and when the flash was passed, the monk had vanished also.

Furthermore, when the widows sought shelter in the monastery, they
found that the brotherhood knew nothing of their strange visitor.

KIND WILLIAM AND THE WATER SPRITE.

There once lived a poor weaver, whose wife died a few years after
their marriage. He was now alone in the world except for their child,
who was a very quick and industrious little lad, and, moreover, of
such an obliging disposition that he gained the nickname of Kind
William.

On his seventh birthday his father gave him a little net with a long
handle, and with this Kind William betook himself to a shallow part of
the river to fish. After wandering on for some time, he found a quiet
pool dammed in by stones, and here he dipped for the minnows that
darted about in the clear brown water. At the first and second casts
he caught nothing, but with the third he landed no less than
twenty-one little fishes, and such minnows he had never seen, for as
they leaped and struggled in the net they shone with alternate tints
of green and gold.

He was gazing at them with wonder and delight, when a voice behind
him cried, in piteous tones--

"Oh, my little sisters! Oh, my little sisters!"

Kind William turned round, and saw, sitting on a rock that stood out
of the stream, a young girl weeping bitterly. She had a very pretty
face, and abundant yellow hair of marvellous length, and of such
uncommon brightness that even in the shade it shone like gold. She was
dressed in grass green, and from her knees downwards she was hidden by
the clumps of fern and rushes that grew by the stream.

"What ails you, my little lass?" said Kind William.

But the maid only wept more bitterly, and wringing her hands,
repeated, "Oh, my little sisters! Oh, my little sisters!" presently
adding in the same tone, "The little fishes! Oh, the little fishes!"

"Dry your eyes, and I will give you half of them," said the
good-natured child; "and if you have no net you shall fish with me
this afternoon."

But at this proposal the maid's sobs redoubled, and she prayed and
begged with frantic eagerness that he would throw the fish back into
the river. For some time Kind William would not consent to throw away
his prize, but at last he yielded to her excessive grief, and emptied
the net into the pool, where the glittering fishes were soon lost to
sight unde