le and knitted, singing to the
sobbing child, the flowers wavered about the infant, forming a
wreath of color, and freshening the air with their pure fragrance.
Each flower in itself was without much perceptible savor, yet the
whole combined exhaled a healthy, clean, and invigorating waft as
of summer air over a meadow.

The wreath that surrounded the child was not circular but oblong,
almost as though engirding a tiny grave, but this Mehetabel did not
see.

Playing the cradle with her foot, with the sun shining in at the
window and streaking the foot, she sang--

"My heart is like a fountain true
That flows and flows with love to you;
As chirps the lark unto the tree,
So chirps my pretty babe to me.
And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby."

But the answer was a peevish moan from the bed. The young mother
stooped over the cradle.

"Oh, little lark! little lark! this is no chirp,
Would you were as glad and as gay as the lark!"

Then, resuming her rocking, she sang,

"There's not a rose where'er I seek
As comely as my baby's cheek.
There's not a comb of honey bee,
So full of sweets as babe to me.
And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby."

Again she bowed over the crib, and all the rocking flowers quivered
and stood still.

"Baby, darling! Why are there such poor roses in your little cheek?
I would value them above all the China roses ever grown! Look at
the Red Robin, my sweet, my sweet, and become as pink as is that."

"There's not a star that shines on high
Is brighter than my baby's eye.
There's not a boat upon the sea
Can dance as baby does to me.
And it's O! sweet, sweet, and a lullaby."

"No silk was ever spun so fine
As is the hair of baby mine.
My baby smells more sweet to me
Than smells in spring the elder tree.
And it's O! sweet, sweet, and a lullaby!"

The child would not sleep.

Again the mother stayed the rocking of the cradle, and the swaying
of the flowers.

She lifted the little creature from its bed carefully lest the
sharp-leafed butcher's broom should scratch it. How surrounded was
that crib with spikes, and they poisonous! And the red berries oozed
out of the ribs of the cruel needle-armed leaves, like drops of
heart's blood.

Mehetabel took her child to her bosom, and rocked her own chair,
and as she rocked, the sunbeam flashed across her face, and then
she was in shadow, then another flash, and again shadow, an