he sat down and listened to the noise of the stream beneath,
and she watched the birds skimming over the ravine. Then remembering her
cake, she took it from her pocket and nibbled it daintily, for it was
all the food she had, and she must make it last until she came to the
old squaw's wig-wam, where, of course, she would be hospitably regaled.
She pushed her daisy-wreathed hat from her head, and leaned against a
pine-tree; the soft breeze fanned her hot little head, and played with
her brown curls; she drew her knees up and clasped her hands about them,
watching the sky change from one bright hue to another. The stream's
voice was a lullaby, and slowly, softly fell the fringes of her eyelids;
till the bright eyes were closed, and Julie was asleep.

She was so wearied and in so deep a slumber that the approaching
stage-coach with its freight of tourists did not disturb her; and so
eager was every one to see the famous view, that no one apparently
noticed the little sleeping wayfarer, but behind the stage came in a
more leisurely manner a private conveyance with only four occupants--a
lady and gentleman and two children, all evidently foreigners. The
elders were indeed occupied in gazing at the glorious picture Nature
here displayed, but the eyes of the children were equally sensitive to
smaller objects, and when they beheld a sleeping child, they at once
drew the attention of their parents to this interesting incident.

The gentleman bade the driver halt, and assisted his pretty little wife
from the carriage. She went hastily forward toward Julie, but as she
neared her she stopped, clasped her hands, and turned toward her
husband. Her face grew so white that he became alarmed, and asked,

"What is it, ma chere? Are you ill?"

"No, I am not ill; but look at this child--quick! Who is she like?"

The gentleman glanced at Julie, nodded his head, pulled his mustache,
and said, briefly, "Yes, I see a resemblance."

"To whom, Max?--say, to whom?"

"To your poor little sister, Marie."

"Yes; is it not strange? Oh, how marvellously like Julie! I must waken
her. Is she not lovely, the dear little creature, sleeping so
innocently? Oh, Max, perhaps--perhaps--"

"Waken her, Marie. Ask her name."

The lady touched Julie gently, but the tired child slept too soundly for
the light touch to arouse her, and it was not until she had kissed her
on the cheek--the little red and brown cheek--that Julie opened her
eyes. Then the lad