supper."

As she spoke, she leaned down, and gave a hand to the little girl,
who mechanically took it, and clambered into the carriage. Dora
lifted her to the seat, and held her there, with one arm about her
waist, saying kindly,--

"Hug right up to me, you poor little thing! and hold on tight. We'll
be at home in half an hour, or less.-Now, Pope!"

The impatient horse, feeling the loosened rein, and hearing his own
name, darted away at speed; whirling the light wagon along so
rapidly, that the child clung convulsively to her new protector,
murmuring,--

"I guess I shall spill out of this, and get kilt."

"Oh, no, you won't, Sunshine! I shall hold you in. You're not Irish,
are you?"

"What's that?"

"Why, Irish, you know. You said 'kilt' just now, instead of
'killed,' as we do."

The child made no reply; but her head drooped upon Dora's shoulder
yet more heavily, and her eyes closed.

"Are you sick, little girl? or only tired?" asked Dora, looking
anxiously down into the colorless face, over which the evening