THE BOY FOUND IN THE SNOW.


One winter's night when the evening had shut in very early, owing to the
black snow clouds that hung close around the horizon, Martha sat looking
into the fire. Her old sheep dog, Fly, lay at her feet. The cows were
foddered for the night, and the sheep were penned up in the yard. Fly
was a faithful dog, and for some reason, this evening, he was very
restless. Why he pricked up his ears, and went snuffing to the door, and
pacing about the room, was more than Martha could tell.

"Lie down, Fly,--good dog--lie down," she said; but Fly would not mind
her, which was an unusual thing. She was certain something was the
matter, and she felt she must go up to the fell; and with the foresight
common to the Dale's people, who knew what mountain storms are, she took
under her cloak a small vial of gin, which was kept in case of any
accident, and set out with the dog Fly. The snow fell fast, the wind
blew, and the drifts lay thick. She had great confidence in Fly, that if
any thing was the matter he would find it out. He ran straight up the
little steep path which led through the woods. On she followed, her
cloak white with snow, until she came into the more open ground, where
she lost sight of Fly, and for a time stood bewildered, until he should
return and guide her. The birds and beasts had gone to rest, and the
stillness of the moors was awful. It was night, and dark. Suddenly she
heard a child's feeble voice, and in an instant she pressed on towards
the spot from which the sound came; soon she heard Fly's loud howl for