hed berries were hastily pushed in by Willie,
leaving large purple stains on her lips and chin, and in his haste and
fear of being discovered he let several fall on her pale blue pelisse.

It was just at this moment that Nurse Barlow looked round. "Master
Willie! Master Willie!" she cried, darting forward and seizing him by
both hands, "haven't I often and often told you Miss Alice is not to
have those nasty berries? Didn't I only yesterday read in the newspaper
of three children that were poisoned to death by eating berries out of a
hedge--poor little children that had no nurse to look after them; and
here you've given the darling those nasty, poisonous things. Just look
at her mouth!" and she paused as she turned to examine Willie's
pockets. "I do declare if you haven't gone and put them into the pockets
of your new clothes! Well," said she, appealing to her friend, "did you
ever see the like? That's his new suit, on yesterday for the first
time,--and just look!" she continued, as one after the other she slowly
turned the pockets inside out, "just look!"

The pockets were purple, as were also the lips and hands of the
delinquent, and he really looked as penitent as he felt, though, as
Nurse Barlow said, "where's the use of being sorry when the mischief's
done?" Willie promised that he really would behave better another time,
and that he had not meant to do any harm. In the meanwhile little Alice
had mightily enjoyed the taste of these her first blackberries, but she
and Willie did not forget in a hurry the terrible scolding, and the much
more terrible washing, which succeeded that famous day's blackberrying
in the lane.

The Blackbird congratulated himself that he had no blue suit of clothes
to spoil, and that his coat was of such a colour that the berries could
not harm it.

We have already said that the Blackbird had his interests and pleasures
even at this autumn time, but it must be owned that a good deal of life
and enjoyment had gone with the summer.

The woods were almost songless, and each day added to the increasing
multitude of dead leaves that drove before the wind; each day, too, the
bare boughs, once so well covered, flung a few more of their last leaves
to the ground. About this time, too, the Blackbird did not feel quite
well--he was listless, his wings would droop in spite of himself. His
feathers were not so black and glossy as they had been,--the fact was,
the moulting season had begun, and it w