ard,
The boy had noisy laugh or shout,
The girl had winsome word--
He questioned, never satisfied,
She chattered like a bird.

Meanwhile each ruffian surly sat,
In dark and restless mood;
Little the prattlers, in their joy,
Such silence understood,
As on through the warm early day
They rode towards the wood.

They reached the leafy wilderness,
And then the way grew wild;
But ever with new glee the babes
The gathering gloom beguiled.
Until, at last, quite cheered and won,
One of the ruffians smiled.

Love had o'ercome within his breast
His wicked avarice.
"I will not kill the little things,"
He said, "for any price!"
Then passed hot words between the two,
But only once or twice,

For blows fell, and the kindly one
Dropped to the earth and died;
The children sank upon the ground,
Trembling and terrified,
And clung together, wondering,
And moaned, and sobbed, and cried.

Then he who lived led them away,
Both shivering with dread;
They begged for food; he paused a space;
"Stay here awhile," he said,
"And I will go into the town
At once, and fetch you bread."

He went. In their sweet innocence
They trusted to his word;
Meanwhile, the sparkling morning sun
With a grey cloud was blurred;
And long, in vain, they waited there,
Nor cried again, nor stirred!

How can I write the mournful end--
And tell how, up and down,
At last, by hunger driven, they stray
Over the mosses brown--
She clutching at his little coat,
He clinging to her gown?

More than one day--more than one night,
Comes on them there alone!
They search for blackberries, so weak
And starving they are grown,
Now through a thicket of wild brier,
Now 'gainst a hindering stone!

Then they lie down to die, poor babes!
The cruel ground receives
Their little bodies as a bed;
Long time the south wind grieves
Above them; and a hovering bough
A pall of shadow weaves;
And robin-red-breasts pity them,
And cover them with leaves!

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

Ah, very, very poor was she--
Old Dame Pig, with her children three!
Robust, beautiful little ones
Were those three sons,
Each wearing always, without fail,
A little fanciful knot in his tail.

But never enough of sour or sweet
Had they to eat;
And so, one day, wit