NELLY GREY.

"Nelly! Nelly! Where can the child be? Nelly! Nelly!" But Nelly Grey was
away off in dreamland, and the cheerful tones of her mother's voice fell
all unheeded upon her ear, as did the impatient touch of her little dog
Frisk's cold nose upon her hand. She was sitting on the last step of the
vine-covered portico in front of the cottage,--the warm June sun smiling
down lovingly upon her, and the soft wind kissing the little rings of
chestnut-colored hair that clustered about her temples.

What could make the child so quiet? It must be some weighty matter that
would still _her_ joyous laugh. Why, she was the merriest little body
that ever hunted for violets. There was a laugh lodged in every dimple
of her sunny face, and her busy little tongue was all the day long
carolling some happy ditty.

"Nelly, what are you dreaming about? I've been calling you this long
time, and here you are in this warm sun, almost asleep."

"No, no! mother dear, I've only been thinking, and haven't heard you
call once. Only to think that you couldn't find me mother! how funny!"

"And what has my little girl been thinking of?" said Mrs. Grey, as she
lifted Nelly into her lap, and smoothed hack the silky curls from her
brow. Nelly laid her rosy cheek close to her mother's, and wound her
small arms about her neck, and told her simple thoughts in a low, sweet
voice.

"You know it's strawberry time, mother, don't you?"