Mad he once turned his head as ho pass
ed the turnip field, things might have ta
ken a different course. The whole eii'
closure was nicely and completely hoed
out, large as was the task for a boy of his
size, and the hoc was cleaned and hunir
glittering in the sun, from the nook of an
apple tree. Hut all this was lost, for it
was vnsecn by the father of the boy.
The beech woods were tho favorite re
sort of (Jeorge, when he could get away
with a book or a bit of paper; no matter
how old, worn or greasy, it was food for
him, and there lay his little paradise. It
was not long before Mr. Darner discover
ed the child stretched at full length on a
grassy mound beneath a tree. A biook
ran purling and laughing at his feet a
thousand birds were singing around and
above him the green turf bespangled
with (lowers, filling the air with their de
licious fragrance, and there amid all the
loveliness of a glorious summer day, lay
that young boy, feasting over a few worn
and dirty pages of an old Spectator!
Tears were standing on his pale, but in
telligent face, tho' his lip was wreathed
with a smile, and one small hand, as it lay
on the grass, grasped nervously the flow
ers, while his large, beautiful eye? turned
rapidly and eagerly from side to side of
the much-loved page, lie was wraped in
a world of ideal but blissful feeling, and
the sight might have moved almost any
heart to love and admiration for tiie hoy,
but it only served to increase the father's
rage,
'George! George'.' No answer.
