e was changed, and Felix saw before him a smooth piece of lawn
that looked like shining velvet. The flower-pots with full-blown roses
were there, so was the girl with the pail and the player with the long
broom, looking quite hot, as if they had been at work for hours.

"A good morning's work," observed the Queen. "See how neat it is."

[Illustration: "HE ONLY SAW A BOY ... LIKE A STREET-SWEEPER."]

Felix grew more and more perplexed. How could they scour and sweep under
the snow? And how did the flower-pots get there, and the players; for
the ground was all covered with the pine-wood cricket-players, dressed
in the gayest and airiest of costumes. Half had brushes and half had
balls. And the balls were flying here and there, and if the players hit
them so that they rose in the air, they burst, and butterflies of the
loveliest colours issued forth; whilst if the balls fell to the ground,
frogs innumerable hopped out of them, and making their way to the banks
of the river, sat there singing in a most delightful manner.

[Illustration: "THE GIRL WAS RAISING HER BRUSH" (_p. 107_).]

Yet, sweet as it was, the music seemed to confuse him as much as the
game, which grew every moment more and more intricate; the players,
brandishing their brushes, flew round, and the balls flashed about, and
at last all that Felix could see was a mass of dazzling rainbow colours
whirling past him.

All at once he heard a loud hissing, and he saw the large gander
waddling up from the river; and beside him was the little girl with the
large cap with the blue bow in it, and she held out her hand, saying--

"Good-bye, Felix. Come and see us again."

"That I will," replied Felix.

But he never did.

For from that day he never saw the gander again; nor could he ever find
the way to the pine-forest, though he fancied he had remembered it quite
well; nor did he ever see the game of brush-cricket played again.

Sometimes he even doubted whether he had been to Pineland, and had seen
the wonderful game.

"But yet," said he, "if I had not seen it, how should I know anything
about the forest and the Pine Queen? and how should I know how
brush-cricket is played?"

And how should he?

JULIA GODDARD.

HARVEST DAYS.

Over the cornfield fell the sunlight,
And turned all the stubble to gold,
And 'neath the pale cloud-shades of evening
Deep crimson and purple unrolled.

The gleaners were busily gleaning