remembrance of a joy just past.

A meadow lark perched on a swaying apple-branch above Martha's grave,
and poured out his soul in grateful melody; and Timothy, wakened by
Nature's sweet good-morning, leaped from the too fond embrace of Miss
Vilda's feather-bed.... And lo, a miracle!... The woodbine clung close
to the wall beneath his window. It was tipped with strong young shoots
reaching out their innocent hands to cling to any support that offered;
and one baby tendril that seemed to have grown in a single night, so
delicate it was, had somehow been blown by the sweet night wind from its
drooping place on the parent vine, and, falling on the window-sill, had
curled lovingly round Gay's fairy shoe, and held it fast!




SCENE XI.

_The Honeysuckle Porch._

MISS VILDA DECIDES THAT TWO IS ONE TOO MANY, AND TIMOTHY BREAKS A
HUMMINGBIRD'S EGG.


It was a drowsy afternoon. The grasshoppers chirped lazily in the warm
grasses, and the toads blinked sleepily under the shadows of the steps,
scarcely snapping at the flies as they danced by on silver wings. Down
in the old garden the still pools, in which the laughing brook rested
itself here and there, shone like glass under the strong beams of the
sun, and the baby horned-pouts rustled their whiskers drowsily and