Jocko? Why, this is Prince Francolin!"

"Yes, dear child," said a bright voice beside her; and, turning round,
Sweet-Heart beheld the Western fairy, who, with her sisters, had
suddenly arrived. "Yes, indeed! Francolin, and no other!"

The universal joy may be imagined. Even the grave fairy of the North
smiled with pleasure and delight, and, as she kissed her pretty
god-daughter, she took the girl's hand and pressed it against her own
heart.

"Never misjudge me, Sweet-Heart," she whispered. "Cold as I seem to
those who have not courage to approach me closely, my heart, under my
icy mantle, is as warm as is now your own."

And so it was.

Where can we get a better ending than the time-honored one? Francolin
and Sweet-Heart were married, and lived happy ever after, and who knows
but what, in the Kingdom of the Four Orts, they are living happily
still?

If only we knew the way thither, we might see for ourselves if it is so.

WIDOW TOWNSEND'S VISITOR.

The fire crackled cheerfully on the broad hearth of an old-fashioned
fireplace in an old-fashioned public house in an old fashioned village,
down in that part of the Old Dominion called the "Eastern Shore." A cat
and three kittens basked in the warmth, and a decrepit yellow dog, lying
full in the reflection of the blaze, wrinkled his black nose
approvingly, as he turned his hind feet where his fore feet had been.
Over the chimney hung several fine hams and pieces of dried beef. Apples
were festooned along the ceiling, and other signs of plenty and good
cheer were scattered profusely about. There were plants, too, on the
window ledges, horse-shoe geraniums, and dew-plants, and a monthly rose,
just budding, to say nothing of pots of violets that perfumed the whole
place whenever they took it into their purple heads to bloom. The floor
was carefully swept, the chairs had not a speck of dust upon leg or
round, the long settle near the fireplace shone as if it had been just
varnished, and the eight-day clock in the corner had had its white face
newly washed, and seemed determined to tick the louder for it.

Two arm-chairs were drawn up at cozy distance from the hearth and each
other; a candle, a newspaper, a pair of spectacles, a dish of red
cheeked apples, and a pitcher of cider, filled a little table between
them. In one of these chairs sat a comfortable-looking woman about
forty-five, with cheeks as red as the apples, and eyes as dark and
bright as they had e