Under a snow-drift's treacherous crest:
She cuddled herself in a tiny nest,
White and cold as her mother's breast.

They found her there on the snowy ground,
Her silky hair with snowflakes crowned.
She made no sign, she breathed no sound,
But the skyward road she had surely found.

CLARA G. DOLLIVER.




THREE FEATHERS.

BY WILLIAM BLACK, AUTHOR OF "A PRINCESS OF THULE."




CHAPTER XXIII.

SOME OLD SONGS.


"Are you dreaming again, child?" said Mrs. Rosewarne to her daughter.
"You are not a fit companion for a sick woman, who is herself dull
enough. Why do you always look so sad when you look at the sea, Wenna?"