presently the child began to cry, and the careful mother flew to his side
to discover what had pained him. It was only the loss of his ball, which he
had thrown too high, and which had gone over the hedge, and seemed to him
lost for ever. Only his ball! And yet that ball was as much to that tiny
mind as our most precious treasures are to us.

The mother knew this, so she calmed the child's fears, and ran immediately
to recover his lost plaything.

But Rosalie was before her. She had seen the ball come over the hedge, and
had heard the child's cry; and, when his mother appeared at the gate, she
saw the child of the caravan returning from her chase after the ball, which
had rolled some way down the hilly road. She brought it to the young
mother, who thanked her for her kindness, and then gazed lovingly and
pityingly into her face. She was a mother, and she thought of the happy
life her child led, compared with that of this poor little wanderer. With
this feeling in her heart, after restoring the ball to the once more
contented child, she ran into the house, and returned with a mug of new
milk, and a slice of bread, spread with fresh country butter, which she
handed to Rosalie and begged her to eat.

'Thank you, ma'am,' said little Rosalie; 'but please may mammie have it?
I've had some bread and cheese; but she is too ill to eat that, and this
would do her such good.'

'Yes, to be sure,' said the kind-hearted countrywoman; 'give her that,
child, and I'll fetch some more for you.'

And so it came to pass that Rosalie and her mother had quite a little
picnic on the steps of the caravan; with the young woman standing by, and