ve you a bit of gold."

"Nay," growled the man. "I've got bairns of my own. I don't want to be
paid. Yes, I do," he said quickly; "will you give me a kiss, little
one, for pulling brother out?"

Tizzy's face lit up with smiles, as she held up her hands to be caught
up, and the next moment her little white face was pressed against a
brown one, her arms closing round the bargeman's neck, as she kissed him
again and again.

"Thank you, thank you, sir," she babbled. "It was so good of you, and I
love you very, very much."

"Hah!" sighed the man, as he set her down softly. "Now take brother's
hand and run home with him to get some dry clothes. Morning, missus.
He won't hurt."

He turned away sharply and went back to his barge, from which he looked
at the little party running across the meadow, Cook sobbing and laughing
as she held the children's hands tightly in her own.

"And such a great, big, ugly man, ma'am," Cook said to her mistress,
when she was telling all what had passed.

The tears of thankfulness were standing in Mrs Lester's eyes, and
several of them dropped like pearls, oddly enough, just as she was
thinking that the outsides of diamonds are sometimes very rough.

CHAPTER THREE.

A GRATEFUL INDIAN, BY HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.

Jem could not walk any farther; his ankle was badly hurt, there was no
doubt of that, and, brave little lad though he was, his heart sank
within him, for he knew all the consequences which might ensue from such
a disaster. It was not the pain that daunted him--Jem would have
scorned the imputation; neither did he fear to spend a night in the
forest--he could sleep under a tree as soundly as in his own bed under
the rafters of his Father's cabin. It was warm dry weather, and he had
a hunch of bread in his pocket; there was nothing therefore to be afraid
of except Indians, and his Father said there were none in the
neighbourhood at present.

Jem's mind would have been quite easy on his own account, but he was on
his way through the forest to a village on the farther boundary to
obtain some medicine for his sick Mother, which the doctor had desired
she might have without fail that very night. Our hero, though but
eleven years old, had just finished a long day's work, and it was
already dusk, but he loved his Mother dearly, and gladly volunteered for
the ten-mile walk to fetch the medicine; he did not even wait to eat his
supper, but, putting it in his pocket to munch