And you left it for me when you disappeared, and
it is a beauty, and it is gold, and it does strange, wonderful things
for me, and--and--" In his enthusiasm he drew it from his breast and
held it up, when, lo! it curved about his hand until it formed a
perfect, beautiful circle. From its shining rim shot up points of
radiance, and it was no more a simple little rule, but a golden crown
fit for a king to wear.

Lionel gazed at it in mute wonderment, and the beggar put out his hand
and touched it lovingly.

"When your journey is done you shall wear it, lad," he said; and then
Lionel closed his eyes for very ecstasy, and then--

But when extraordinary things are just on the point of getting _too_
extraordinary, they are sure to meet with some sort of an interruption,
and after that they are quite ordinary and every-day again. So when
Lionel opened his eyes there he was curled up in the chair by the
drawing-room window, and it had grown very dark and must have been
late, for one of the maids was tripping softly about the room, lighting
the lamps and singing as she did it.

MARIE AND THE MEADOW-BROOK.

A little maid sat sadly weeping while the sunbeams played merrily at
hide-and-seek with the shadows that the great oak branches cast on the
ground; while the warm summer wind sang softly to itself as it passed,
and the blue sky had not even a white cloud with which to hide the sad
sight from its eyes.

"Why do you weep?" asked the oak-tree; but Marie did not hear it, and
her tears tell faster than ever.

"Why are you so sad?" questioned the sunbeams; and they came to her
gently and tried to peep into her eyes.

But she only got up and sat farther away in the shadow, and they could
do nothing to comfort her. So they danced awhile on the door-step; and
then the sun called them away, for it was growing late.

And still the little maid sat weeping; and if she had not fallen asleep
from very weariness, who knows what the sad consequences might not have
been?

"How warm it is!" murmured the dandelions in the meadow. "Our heads
are quite heavy, and our feet are hot. If it was not our duty to stand
up, we would like nothing better than to sink down in the shade and go
to sleep; but we must attend to our task and keep awake."

"What can you have, you wee things, to keep you busy?" asked the tall
milkweed that grew near the fence-rails; and the mullein-stalk beside
it echoed,--

"What, indeed?"

"Now, one