ning of the day, so reluctantly they left
their new possession.

When breakfast was finished, Mr. Bartlett said: "I'll go for the first
ride or two with you just to see how this little fellow acts, though
I've been assured that he's as gentle as any lamb ever born."

And whoever it was that had given Mr. Bartlett this assurance had not
exaggerated the amiable qualities of the donkey. "Little Brownie," as
the children had unanimously and immediately named him, was of equable
and even nature. True, as the days went by it was discovered that he was
somewhat lazy, also self-willed. If he wanted to stop he would not move
again until he wished to, in face of all pleading, urging, or
inducements. He refused even to be led, and stood very pleasantly
viewing the surrounding landscape till with a sudden jerk he would
resume his usual trot. The children finally accepted Brownie's one
vagary, and when they were driving home among other vehicles, and
Brownie suddenly stopped and raised his right ear, a sign which meant,
"I shall not move till I wish to," they only laughed, and others about
them knowing the ways of little donkeys, laughed good-naturedly too, and
drove around the little cart.

It is an unvarying law that the days roll on and bring to an end even
periods of thrilling delight; and so there came the last evening to be
spent in the cottage at the seashore. The night was early in August, but
it had elected to borrow from its cooler sister September a rather chill
wind which, to the children's delight, necessitated the building of a
fire in the grate in the long room.

"And we'll pop corn," said Mr. Bartlett when they were all gathered
together watching the roaring flames, the only light in the room.

And Nancy, who could on a moment's notice, produce anything asked of
her, brought the popper and a big bag of dried corn.

After a time, when several bowls of corn were popped and buttered,
salted and eaten, Nancy put on the hearth a dish of fine, rosy apples.
These the children peeled and then cast the skins into the grate. A
hardy fragrance came from them, but hardly pungent enough to overpower
the salt-water odor that swept in from the ocean.

The flames lit all the faces, young and old. They fell on Mrs. Bartlett,
touching her lovely hair to molten gold, touching her thoughtful face
till it seemed a smile beyond itself rested upon it. She was
thinking--"Tomorrow we start back, and in my hands lie the happiness of
m