achine"--as he
called it--in front of which sat Auntie.

"Why, Jo!"

"Aunt Millie, what _are_ you doing?" as he caught sight of a
photograph of himself, and a large copy on the easel.

"I am crayoning--and" (this last a trifle averse) "I _had_ intended it
as a surprise for mamma, to-morrow."

The big blue eyes raised to hers had a suspicion of tears in them--she
bent down quickly and gathered the little fellow in her arms.

"Never mind, pet! I was a bit vexed, that you had discovered my
secret."

"Is it a _secret_?" in an awed tone; "well, I'll _keep_ it."

"Do you think you really can, Jo?"

"Yes," he said; "and _you_ can keep my strawberries," forgetting he
had told her a dozen times before.

"Well, I'll trust you."

Would you believe it, the child _did_ keep his word, although burning
many times to tell; and he succeeded in surprising Aunt Millie, as
much as he did mamma.

A SUMMER AT WILLOW-SPRING.

The trunks were strapped on the back of the carriage; we children,
with Nurse, were bundled inside; the door shut--the driver snapped his
whip--and without any time for last good-byes, we were whirled away to
the station. How excited and glad we were, for Papa and Mamma were to
follow us next day, and we left the city far behind to spend the whole
beautiful summer at Willow-spring. The very first day after our
arrival, we were out--Willie, my brother, Elsie, our little
four-year-old sister, and myself--scouring the premises, and I guess
there were not a nook or corner we had not visited by night. It was a
lovely place, with broad shady walks through which we raced, or Willie
drove us as two spirited young colts, for like most boys he was rather
masterful.

I wish I could tell you of the grand time we had that summer. We
formed the acquaintance of several little neighbor children, who
proved pleasant playmates, and together we would wander through the
cool leafy woods, or roam the sunny meadows gathering sweet wild
strawberries and armsful of golden-eyed daisies, and taking our
treasures home, would have a little treat on the shady veranda, and
garland ourselves with long daisy chains, making believe we were
woodland fairies. Once in a while the rabbits from the near wood ran
across the garden path, timid and shy little creatures at first--they
grew quite tame from our feeding--and Elsie dearly loved her bunnies,
as she called them.

Rapidly the days flew by, and the time for our departure was