n touching her hair and turning the
rich auburn into a golden colour. But somebody did see her; for just
before the sun went down, Effie spied an old man coming along the beach
to the place where she sat. "That must be Uncle Ralph," thought she,
"coming home from fishing." "No," she said; as he came nearer, "it
isn't, it's Granther Allen." "Why no! it isn't Granther; who can it be?
what a queer old man!"

[Illustration: "Effie spied an old man coming along the beach."]

By this time the old man had come quite near. He was a very old man.
His hair was long and as white as snow; he was so bent over that as he
leaned upon his smooth stout cane, his head almost touched the knob on
the top of it; and it kept wagging sidewise, as if he were saying "No"
all the time. He had on a long grey coat almost the colour of his hair,
and it reached down to his feet on which was a pair of shoes so covered
with dust that they were of the same colour as his coat; and his hat was
the oddest of all! it was very high and peaked, and looked as if it had
been rubbed in the flour barrel before he put it on.

This old man came up toward Effie very slowly, his head shaking all the
time and his feet dragging one after the other as if he could hardly
reach her. Effie began to be frightened, but when he spoke to her it was
with such a sweet musical voice that she thought she had never heard
anything half so beautiful.

"My little child," said he, "I am very tired; I have come a long way
to-day and have had nothing to eat since morning. Will you give me some
of your porridge that looks so nice?"

"Oh yes! sir," said Effie, jumping up and giving him the bowl. "But
there isn't much left. Won t you come into the house and mother will
give you some bread."

"Oh, no! my little girl," said the old man. "I do not need anything more
than this porridge to make me strong again;" and as he spoke, he raised
himself up and stood as straight as his own smooth stick that his hand
hardly rested on; and his head stopped wagging, and he stood there a
tall old man with a beautiful face and such a beautiful voice as he
asked again:

"What is your name, my little girl?"

"Effie Gilder, sir. And this is my birth-day; I'm six years old to-day."

"Six years old to-day! and what shall I give you, little Effie, on this
your birth-day? I love all good little children, and you were good to me
to give me your porridge. Little Effie, I am going to let you wish three
thi