"It is my dancing dog!" explained the organ-grinder. "The boy yonder is carrying him in his arms and running away. He will deny it, but I will pay you a silver coin. It is a week since I lost him."

"Stop, thief," roared the officer, beginning to run. The organ-grinder ran as well as he could with his heavy burden, and there began to be an excitement on the street, so that Gabriel, hugging his dog, stopped to see what was the matter.

What was his surprise to be confronted by the big officer and the black-eyed Italian.

"Drop that dog!" ordered the officer gruffly.

"Not till I get a string around his neck," objected the organ-grinder, and produced a cord which he knotted about Topaz's fluffy throat. Then he pulled the dog away roughly.

"Is he yours?" cried Gabriel, eyes and mouth open in astonishment. "No, it cannot be. He is afraid of you. Oh, see!"

"Ho, this boy has stolen my whole living," said the organ-grinder, "and now he tries to claim my property."

"Do not believe him!" cried Gabriel, appealing to the big officer. "It cannot be his. The dog loves me. Let me show you."

Gabriel's heart bounded hotly. Did these people think they were seeing Topaz dance?

"Oh, believe me, let me show you!" he cried, trying to come near; but the big officer pushed him away roughly.

"Can you pay your debts?" he said, coming close to the organ-grinder. The man stopped turning his crank and taking a silver coin handed it to the officer, but slyly, so that no one saw. Then the big man turned to Gabriel. "Now be off from here!" he said sternly. "If you hang about a minute longer, into the lock-up you go!"

Gabriel, white and sorry, clasped his hands helplessly, and watched while the organ-grinder caught Topaz up under his arm and made off with him, down a side street.

The boy felt that he must pursue them. He turned his tearful gaze on the big officer. "I found that dog, sir," he said.

"The more fool you, then, not to take it to the palace," returned the other. "It is gaudy enough to have perhaps pleased the princess, and the organ-grinder would have had to get another slave."

So saying, the officer laughed and carelessly turned away.

He pressed his hand to his streaming eyes, then, seeing that people were staring at him curiously, he stole away, walking blindly and stumbling over the rough pavement.

At last he came to a place in a quiet street where a seat was built into a wall, and there he sat down and tried to think. In his despair the thought of the great King of heaven and earth came to him.

"Dear God," he murmured breathlessly, "what now? What did I wrong, that you did not take care of Topaz and me?"

The breeze in the treetops was his only answer; so after listening for a minute to the soothing sound, he took the Book of Life from his blouse and opened it.

Oh, wonderful were the words he saw. How they glowed and seemed to live upon the gray page.

"Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them; for the Lord thy God, He it is that doth go with thee: He will not fail thee nor forsake thee."

Gabriel caught his trembling lip between his teeth. He knew no one in this crowded city. He had no home, no friends, no money except the few coppers in his pocket. How, then, was help to come?

"Dear God," he whispered, "I have no one now in all the world but you. Topaz is gone and I am grieved sore, for he is wretched. Let me save him. I am not afraid, dear God, not afraid of anything. I trust you."

Gabriel's heart gave a great bound. What golden dog was there anywhere but Topaz? The color that had fled from his cheeks came back. But would an organ-grinder dare claim for his own a dog that belonged to a princess of the country? And yet—and yet—the little dog's joy and light-heartedness with himself showed that he had been well treated by whomever taught him his pretty tricks. The organ-grinder did not treat him well, and who that really knew Topaz would dream of taking a whip to force him to his work!

Gabriel, young as he was, saw that there was some mystery here, and beside, there had been the glowing words in the Book of Life, telling him again not to be afraid, and promising him that the greatest of all kings would not fail him or forsake him.

He started up from the seat, but forced himself back and opened the small bundle of dry bread and meat; for there was no knowing when he should eat again. He took all that remained, and when he had swallowed the last crumbs, arose with a determined heart and hurried up the street.

He asked the first man he met if he could direct him to the palace.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Where is your yellow dog?" he asked.

The man laughed down at the shabby figure of the country lad. "And don't know where it is? Well, Follow your nose. You are on the right road."

Gabriel sped along and he was indeed much nearer than he had supposed; for very soon he met a sorry-faced man with a yellow dog in his arm; then another; then another; and in fact he could trace his way to the palace by the procession of men, women, and children, all returning, and each one carrying a yellow dog and chattering or grumbling according to the height from which his hopes had been dashed.

When Gabriel reached the palace gates he saw that there were plenty more applicants waiting inside the grounds. The boy had never realized how many varying sizes and shades of yellow dogs there were in the world.

The guard had received orders to deny entrance to no person who presented a gold-colored dog for examination, but Gabriel was empty-handed and the guard frowned upon him.

"I wish to see the princess," said the boy.

"I dare say," replied the guard. "Be off."

"But I wish to tell her about a golden dog."

"Can't you see that we are half buried in golden dogs?" returned the guard crossly.

"No, sir. I have seen none but yellow dogs since I drew near this place. I have a tale to tell the princess."

Gabriel withdrew quietly; but he was not daunted. The princess would, perhaps, grow weary and drive out. At any rate there was nothing to do except watch for her. He looked at the splendid palace and gardens and wondered if Topaz had ever raced about there. Then he wondered what the dog was doing now; but this thought must be put away, because it made Gabriel's eyes misty, and he must watch, watch.

At last his patient vigil was rewarded. A splendid coach drawn by milk-white horses appeared in the palace grounds.

Gabriel's heart beat fast. He knew he must act quickly and before any one could catch him; so he made his way cautiously to the shelter of a large, flowering shrub by the roadside.

The coach approached and the iron gates were flung wide. Gabriel plainly saw a young girl with troubled eyes sitting alone within, and on the seat opposite an older woman with her back to the horses.

Suddenly, while the carriage still moved slowly outside the gates that clanged behind it, Gabriel started from his hiding-place and swiftly leaped to the step of the coach and looked straight into the young girl's eyes.

"Unhand him instantly!" exclaimed the princess, her eyes flashing, for the look Gabriel had given her had reached her heart. "Stop the horses!"

Instantly the coach came to a standstill.

"I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee," sounded in Gabriel's ears amid the roaring in his head, as he found himself free. He did not wait for further invitation, but jumped back to the coach.

"Stop screaming, Lady Gertrude!" exclaimed the princess.

"But the beggar's hands are on the satin, your highness!" exclaimed the lady-in-waiting, who had had a hard week and wished there was not a yellow dog in the world.

"Princess, hear me and you will be glad," declared Gabriel. "I beg for nothing but to be heard. I believe I know where your dog is and that he suffers."

No one could have seen and heard Gabriel as he said this, without believing him. Tears of excitement sprang to his gray eyes and a pang went through the heart of the princess. How many times she had wondered if her lost pet had found such love as she gave him!

She at once ordered the door of the coach to be opened and that Gabriel should enter.

"Your highness!" exclaimed Lady Gertrude, nearly fainting.

Gabriel, sitting beside her on the fine satin cushion, told his story, from the moment when he found the dingy, brown dog in the hands of the teasing boys, to the moment when the organ-grinder bore him away.

The hands of the princess were clasped tightly as she listened. "You called him Topaz," she said, when the boy had finished. "I called him Goldilocks. Ah, if it should be the same! If it should!"

"Surely there are not two dogs in the world so beautiful," said Gabriel.

"That is what I say to myself," responded the princess.

"Had he been less wonderful, your highness, he would be safe now, for I should have kept him. He loved me," said Gabriel simply.

"You are an honest boy," replied the princess gratefully, "and I will make you glad of it whether Topaz turns out to be Goldilocks or not. But you say he danced with so much grace?"

"Yes, your highness, and tossed his head for glee till his curls waved merrily."

"'Tis the same!" cried the princess, in a transport. "His eyes are like topazes. Your name is the best. He shall have it. Ah, he has slept in a shed and eaten cold scraps! My Goldilocks!"

"Yes, your highness, and would be glad to do so still; for he fears his dark-browed master, and dances with such trembling you would not know him again."

"Ah, cruel boy, cease! Take me to him at once. Show my men the spot where you left him."

"You are right. I can send out men with orders to examine every hand-organ in the city."

"If they were quiet enough it might be done, but I have a better plan."

"You may speak," returned the princess.

"When we are alone, your highness," said Gabriel; and the lady-in-waiting was so amazed at such effrontery that she forgot to use her salts.

"To the palace," ordered the princess.

Lady Gertrude gave the order.

"Does your highness intend to take this—this person to the palace?" she inquired.

"I do. He loves my dog, and therefore I would give more for his advice at this time than for that of the Lord High Chamberlain."

"Then I have nothing more to say," returned the Lady Gertrude, leaning back among the cushions; and this was cheering news to her companions.

What was the astonishment of the guard to see the coach return, still carrying the rustic lad, who sat so composedly beside the princess, and dismounted with her at the palace steps.

Once within, nothing was too fine for Gabriel. A gentleman-in-waiting was set to serve him in an apartment, which made the boy pinch himself to make sure he was not dreaming.

As he entered the room, every eye was turned upon him, and the Lady Gertrude, especially, put up her glass in wonder that this handsome lad with the serious, fearless eyes, who seemed so at ease in the silks and satins he now wore, could be the peasant who had jumped on the step of the coach.

The princess looked upon him with favor and smiled. "We are ready now," she said, "to hear what plan you propose for the rescue of the golden dog."

"Then will your highness kindly ask these ladies to leave us?" returned Gabriel.

"Ah, to be sure. I forgot your wish that the communication should be private."

Then the princess gave orders that every one should leave the room, and her companions obeyed reluctantly, the Lady Gertrude above all. She remained close to the outside of the closed door, ready to fly within at the slightest cry from her mistress; for the Lady Gertrude could not quite believe that a boy who had ever worn a calico shirt was a safe person to leave alone with royalty.

For a few minutes there was only a low buzz of voices behind the closed door, then a merry laugh from the princess assailed Lady Gertrude's ears. It was the first time she had laughed since the disappearance of the golden dog.

"Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee; because he trusteth in thee."

"Dear God, I trust in thee!" he murmured; then he climbed into the soft bed and slept dreamlessly.

The following morning, the king and queen having given consent to their daughter's request, two children drove out of the palace grounds in a plain black carriage. The coachman drove to a confectioner's near the centre of the town, where the horses stopped. A tall man in dark clothes, who was also in the carriage, stepped down first and handed out the girl, and afterward the boy jumped down. Then the carriage rolled away.

"Remember," said the girl, turning to the tall man, "you are not to remain too near us."

He bowed submissively, and in a minute more the girl and boy, plainly dressed, middle-class people, were looking in at the confectioner's window at a pink and white frosted castle that reared itself above a cake surrounded with bon-bons to make one's mouth water.

"Saw you ever anything so grand, your highness?" exclaimed Gabriel, in awe.

The princess laughed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. This was the first time her little feet had ever touched a city street, and she loved the adventure.

"Find me Topaz, and all the contents of this window shall be yours," she returned.

"You must not call me that. Some one might hear you."

"I know it. There is danger of it," declared Gabriel; "but the gentleman who is to follow us said I should lose my head if I treated you familiarly."

The princess laughed again. She was in a new world, like a bird whose cage door had been opened.

"We need your head until we find Topaz," she replied, "for you have clever ideas. Nevertheless, my name is Louise, and you may remember it if necessity arises. Now where shall we go first?"

"Straight down this street," said the boy, leading the way. "I am expecting God will show us where to go," he added.

His companion looked at him in surprise, and Gabriel observed it. "Don't you know about God?" he asked.

"Of course. Who does not?" she returned briefly.

"I did not," answered Gabriel, "until I found the Book of Life. It speaks to me in words of flame. Have you such a book?"

"No. I will buy it from you," said the princess.

"No one can do that," declared the boy, "for it is more precious than all beside. This morning I looked into it for guidance through the day, and the glowing words were sweet:—

"'For He shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways.'"

Gabriel smiled at the princess with such gladness that she gazed at him curiously.

"God is greater than all kings," returned Gabriel, "and He would not allow it. He helped me to get your attention yesterday, and to-day He is sending his angels with us to find Topaz. The Book of Life is for every one, I believe. I am sure you can have one, too."

Here both the boy and girl started, for there came a metallic sound of music on the air. "Be cautious, be very cautious," warned Gabriel, and as the princess started to run, he caught her by the arm, a proceeding which horrified the tall man in dark clothes who was at some distance back, but had never taken his eyes from them. "You must not be too interested," added the boy, as excited as she. "A hand-organ is an every-day affair. We even hear them in the country at times."

But they both followed the sound, veiling their eagerness as best they might. When they came in sight of the organ-grinder they both sighed, for he had no assistance from a little dog nor from any one else.

The princess was for turning away impatiently.

"Wait," said Gabriel, "we are interested in organ music." So he persuaded her to stand a minute, while her bright eyes roved in all directions; and the organ man saw a hope of coppers in the pair, for they were decently dressed and lingered in apparent pleasure. He kept his eyes upon them and at last held out his cap.

"You are one of the common people, your highness; or else you need have no hope of Topaz," he had reminded her; so now the impatient girl tossed some coppers into the outstretched cap and hurried along as if they were wasting time.

The next organ they found had, sitting upon it, a monkey dressed in red cap and jacket, and Gabriel insisted on waiting to watch him, although the sight of his antics only swelled the princess's heart as she thought that somewhere Topaz was being forced to such indignity.

The little monkey did not seem to object, and gladly ran to his master with the coppers that Gabriel dropped in his cap.

The next organ-grinder they found had with him a little Italian girl with a red silk handkerchief knotted about her head. She sang and played on a tambourine, and Gabriel persuaded his companion to watch and listen for a few minutes.

If only they could find Topaz first, her royal highness, princess of the country, would ask nothing better than to roam freely about the streets, listening and gazing like any other young girl out for a holiday; but Topaz was on her mind, and she was not accustomed to being forced to wait.

"Listen to me," murmured Gabriel, as they moved on after making the little Italian show her white teeth in pleasure at their gift. "Do not frown. You must look pleased. It is the only way."

"Hi—Oh—Hi—Oh"—and another tune broke into the one which their organ-grinder commenced. Following the sound of the call, Gabriel and the princess looked a little way off, across the street, and beheld a street musician grinding away and beckoning to them with his head, while his teeth gleamed in an attractive smile.

"Pay no attention to him," said the man with the yellow dog, grinding lustily, and making a frightful discord. "'Tis Pedro and his little brown beast. He seeks to draw my listeners away as if I had not the most intelligent dog in the universe, and, moreover, of the color which the princess has made fashionable. I doubt not if her highness saw my dog she would give me for him as many gold eagles as I have fingers on my hand; but he is not for the princess, who has joys enough without depriving the children on the street of their pleasures."

Pedro, across the street, kept drawing nearer, as he played and smiled and beckoned with his head. There trotted after him an unpromising little brown dog with limp tail and ears. The man, in his good-nature and success, looked very different from the organ-grinder of yesterday; and as he laughed aloud, the master of the yellow dog frowned and shouted something in Italian back at him, before shouldering his organ and tramping away, his dog very glad to go on all fours again.

Pedro pulled off his hat, smiling at the lingering girl and boy. "He says you have given him all your coppers," he said. "I don't believe it; but in any case I will give you a tune."

"You are letting him go," murmured the princess breathlessly, starting to run after the yellow dog.

"Saw you not 'twas not Topaz?" asked Gabriel, under cover of the lively tune, and again seizing a fold of the woolen gown, he held the girl in her place. "Wait," he said aloud, with a show of interest, "I wish to hear the music."

"Let me go, my heart is sick," returned the princess, turning her head away.

Gabriel pretended to frown at her and pulled some pence from his pocket, at sight of which the organ-grinder's eyes brightened and he played harder than ever.

The princess started, and instead of obeying, looked closely first at the dejected little brown dog and then up and down the street and behind her, but in vain.

"If those pence are for me, my boy," said the organ-grinder, stopping his music, "you and your sister shall see my dog dance. He is the wonder of the world, although he is not much to look at. We cannot all be royal and own golden dogs."

Gabriel threw him the pennies, for he did not yet wish to come too near Topaz, lest the little dog might see deeper than the respectable raiment in which his own brother would not have known him.

The boy clapped his hands above his head; the organ-grinder thought it was for joy, but it was a signal agreed upon. A shrill whistle sounded on the air. The organ-grinder knew the sound and knew that it was intended to summon the officers of the law. He wondered what poor wretch was getting into trouble; but it was none of his business. He took a whip from within his coat, and with it struck the organ a violent snap.

At the sound the little dog jumped. The princess noticed that Gabriel's eyes were fixed on him, and wondered what he could be thinking of to confound this sorry-looking, dull-colored animal with her gay companion of the palace garden.

The tall, dignified gentleman-in-waiting looked in disgust at the stiff little brown dancer.

"This foolish peasant is but getting us into trouble," he thought, "but he will suffer for it."

Indeed, Gabriel knew the law of the land; knew that if he accused the organ-grinder wrongfully he would be walked off to prison in his place; but Gabriel had seen the brown dog's eyes. There were no doubts in his heart, which bounded so that it seemed as if it could hardly stay within his bosom.

"Come away, your highness," murmured the gentleman-in-waiting, in the princess's ear. "This is a farce."

"Stand back and wait," she replied sternly, and he obeyed.

Meanwhile the organ-grinder had observed the newcomers and was showing every tooth in his head at the prospect of a rich harvest of coppers. In a minute he ceased playing. The brown dog dropped to all fours, and his hopeless air sent a pang through the princess.

The organ-grinder held out his cap.

"It doesn't do to use the whip too much," replied the organ-grinder, but Gabriel had already gone on his knees beside the dog and whispered to him. Instantly the little creature went into a transport of delight. Bounding to the boy's breast, it clung there so closely that Gabriel gave up the experiment that he had intended of trying to show the organ-man how his slave could dance.

Rising, Gabriel held the panting Topaz in his arms. "I declare," he said aloud, "I declare this to be the princess's lost dog."

The organ-grinder scowled and grew pale. "'Tis a lie," he cried, "hers was a golden dog."

"This is a golden dog," said Gabriel.

Even the gentleman-in-waiting was impressed by the certainty of the boy's voice. The organ-grinder turned to the officer and shook his fist. "'Tis that boy again!" he cried. "If this is the princess's dog, that boy stole him. As for me, I found the poor creature, friendless and lost, and I took pity on him."

"Why, then, did you stain his coat?" asked Gabriel.

The organ-grinder looked wildly up and down the street. For some reason he felt that a silver coin would not affect the officer of the law to-day.

The gentleman-in-waiting pointed sternly at the culprit. "Take him away," he said to the officer. "Should this prove to be indeed the princess's dog, he has committed treason."

By noon it was rumored in that street that her royal highness, the princess of the land, had walked through it, dressed like one of the common people.

Within the carriage the princess was weeping tears of joy above her pet.

"If it is you, Goldilocks, if it is you!" she kept repeating; but the dog clung to the one who had recognized his topaz eyes in spite of everything.

"He is not fit, yet, for your highness to touch," said Gabriel, "but if you will give me one hour, I will show him to you unchanged."

That afternoon there was rejoicing at the palace. All had felt the influence of the princess's grief, for she was the idol of the king and queen; and now, as Topaz capered again, a living sunbeam, through corridor and garden, all had a word of praise for the peasant boy who had restored him to his home.

At evening the princess received a message from Gabriel and ordered that he be sent to her.

In a minute he entered, dressed in the shabby garments in which he had leaped upon the coach step. In his hand he held a little rusty book, and his clear eyes looked steadily at the princess, with the honest light which had first made her listen to him.

"I come to say farewell, your highness," he said.

A line showed in her forehead. "What reward have they given you?"

"None, your highness."

"What have you in your hand?"

"The Book of Life."

"Come nearer and let me see it."

The ladies-in-waiting were, as usual, grouped near their mistress, and they stared curiously at the peasant boy.

Only Topaz, who at his entrance had bounded from a satin cushion as golden as his flossy coat, leaped upon him with every sign of affection.

Gabriel approached and handed the book to the princess.

She opened it and ran her eye over the gray pages. "I see no fiery letters," she said, and handed it back. The boy opened it. As usual a flaming verse arrested his eye. He pointed with his finger at the words and read aloud:—

"'He shall call upon me and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble: I will deliver him and honor him.'"

"'Tis a fair promise," said the princess, "but I see no flaming letters."

"I do, your highness," returned Gabriel simply, and looking into his eyes she knew that he spoke the truth.

She gazed at him curiously. "Where go you now, and what do you do?" she asked, after a pause.

"That I know not," replied Gabriel, "but God will show me."

"By means of that book?"

"Yes, your highness," and Gabriel bowed his head and moved toward the door. Topaz followed close at his heel. If Gabriel were going for a walk, why, so much the better. He was going, too.

The girl took the dog, but he struggled and broke from her grasp, to leap once again upon his departing friend.

"Wait," said the princess, and rose. Gabriel stood, all attention, and gazed at her, where she stood, smiling kindly upon him. "I promised a full reward to whomever returned me my dog. You have not yet received even the window-full of pink and white sweetmeats which I promised you this morning."

Gabriel smiled, too.

"Where is your home, Gabriel, and why are you not returning there?"

"I have no home. It is a long story, your highness, and would not interest you."

"Ah, but it does interest me," and the princess smiled more brightly than ever; "because if you have no home you can remain in our service."

A light flashed into Gabriel's sober face. "What happiness!" he exclaimed.

No answer could have pleased the princess better than the pleasure in his eyes. "Topaz is not willing you should leave him, and neither am I. When you are older, his majesty, my father, will look after your fortunes. For the present you shall be a page."

"Your highness!" protested the Lady Gertrude, "have you considered? The pages are of lofty birth. Will it not go hard with the peasant? Give him a purse and let him go."

The princess answered but did not remove her gaze from the boy's flushed face, while Topaz's cold little nose nestled in his down-dropped hand.

"Gabriel is my friend, be he prince or peasant," she said slowly, "and it will go hard with those who love him not." The young girl's eyes met Gabriel's and then she smiled as light-heartedly as on this morning when she wore the woolen gown. "And now make Topaz dance," she added, "the way he danced in the woods."

The boy's happy glance dropped to the dog, and he raised his finger. With alacrity Topaz sat up, and then Gabriel began to whistle.

How the court ladies murmured with soft laughter, for no one had ever seen such a pretty sight. Not for any of them, not for the princess herself, had Topaz danced as he danced to-day.

"Ah," murmured the princess, "how much more powerful than the whip is love!"

When music and dancing had ceased, she smiled once more upon Gabriel, whose happy heart was full.

"Go now," she said, "and learn of your new duties; but the chief one you have learned already. It is to be faithful!"

THE TALKING DOLL

Mr. Evringham's horseback rides in these days were apt to be accompanied by the stories, which Jewel related to him with much enthusiasm while they cantered through wood-roads, and it is safe to say that the tales furnished full as much entertainment at second hand as they had at first.

The golden dog had deeply impressed Jewel's fancy, and when she finished relating the story, her face all alight, Mr. Evringham shook his head.

"Star is going to have his hands full, I can see," he remarked, restraining Essex Maid's longing for a gallop.

"Why, grandpa?"

"To hold his own against that dog."

Jewel looked thoughtful. "I suppose it wouldn't be any use to try to teach Star to dance, would it?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. Ponies learn to dance. We shall have to go to a circus and let you see one; but how should you like it every time Star heard a band or a hand-organ to have him get up on his hind legs and begin?"

Jewel laughed and patted her pony's glossy neck. "I guess I like Star best the way he is," she replied, "but grandpa, did you ever hear of such a darling dog?"

"I confess I never did," admitted the broker.

"I should think there was some trick Star could learn," said Jewel musingly.

"Why, of course there is. Tell Zeke you wish to teach Star to shake hands. He'll help you."

This idea pleased Jewel very much, and in the fullness of time the feat was accomplished; but by the time the black pony had learned that he must lift his little hoof carefully and put it in his mistress's hand, before his lump of sugar was forthcoming, he wished, like the Lady Gertrude, that there had never been a yellow dog in the world.

When next Mrs. Evringham, Jewel, and Anna Belle settled in the ravine to the reading of a story, it was Jewel's turn to choose. When her mother had finished naming the remaining titles, the child hesitated and lifted her eyebrows and shoulders as she gave the reader a meaning glance. Mrs. Evringham wondered what was in her mind, and, after a minute's thought, Jewel turned to Anna Belle, sitting wide-eyed against a tree.

"Just excuse me one minute, dearie," she said; then, coming close to her mother's ear, she whispered:—

"Is there anything in 'The Talking Doll' to hurt Anna Belle's feelings?"

"No, I think she'd rather like it," returned Mrs. Evringham.

"You see," whispered Jewel, "she doesn't know she's a doll."

"Of course not," said Mrs. Evringham.

Jewel sat back: "I choose," she said aloud, "I choose 'The Talking Doll.'"

When Gladys opened her eyes on her birthday morning, the sun was streaming across her room, all decorated in rose and white. It was the prettiest room any little girl could have, and everything about the child looked so bright, one would have expected her to laugh just for sympathy with the gay morning; but as she sat up in bed she yawned instead and her eyes gazed soberly at the dancing sunbeams.

"Ellen," she called, and a young woman came into the room.

"Oh, you're awake, Miss Gladys. Isn't this a fine birthday Mother Nature's fixed up for you?"

The pleasant maid helped the little girl to bathe and dress, and, as the toilet went on, tried to bring a cheerful look into Gladys's face. "Now what are you hoping your mother has for you?" she asked, at last.

"I don't know," returned the child, very near a pout. "There isn't anything I want. I've been trying to think what I'd like to have, and I can't think of a thing." She said this in an injured tone, as if the whole world were being unkind to her.

Ellen shook her head. "You are a very unlucky child," she returned impressively.

Ellen had taken care of her ever since she was born, and no one should know better what a happy, petted life she had led; but Ellen only shook her head now; and when Gladys was dressed she went down to the dining-room where her parents were waiting to give her a birthday greeting.

They kissed her lovingly, and then her mother said:—

"Well, what does my little girl want for her gift?"

"What have you for me?" asked Gladys, with only faint interest. She had closets and drawers full of toys and books and games, and she was like a person who has been feasted and feasted, and then is asked to sit down again at a loaded table.

For answer her mother produced from behind a screen a beautiful doll. It was larger and finer than any that Gladys had owned, and its parted, rosy lips showed pearly little teeth within.

Gladys looked at it without moving, but began to smile. Then her mother put her hand about the doll's waist and it suddenly said: "Ma-ma—Pa-pa."

"Oh, if she can talk!" cried Gladys, looking quite radiant for a minute, and running forward she took the doll in her arms.

"Her name is Vera," said the mother, happy at having succeeded in pleasing her child. "Here is something that your grandmother sent you, dear. Isn't it a quaint old thing?" and Gladys's mother showed her a heavy silver bowl with a cover. On the cover was engraved, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

"I don't know where your grandma found such an odd thing nor why she sent it to a little girl; but she says it will be an heirloom for you."

Gladys looked at the bowl and handled it curiously. The cover fitted so well and the silver was so bright she was rather pleased at having, such a grown-up possession.

"It is evidently valuable," said her mother. "I will have it put with our silver."

"No," returned Gladys, and her manner was the willful one of a spoiled child. "I want it in my room. I like it."

"Oh, very well," answered her mother. "Grandma will be glad that you are pleased."

An excursion into the country had been planned for Gladys to-day. She had some cousins there, a girl of her own age and a boy a little older. She had not seen Faith and Ernest for five years. Their father and mother were away on a long visit now, so the children were living in the old farmhouse with an aunt of their father's to take care of them. Gladys's mother thought it would be a pleasant change for her in the June weather, and it was an attractive idea to Gladys to think of giving these country cousins a sight of her dainty self, her fine clothes, and perhaps she would take them one or two old toys that she liked the least; but the coming of Vera put the toy idea completely out of her head. What would Faith say to a doll who could talk!

Gladys's father had a guest to-day, so his wife remained at home with him, and Ellen took charge of the birthday excursion.

Driving to the station and during the hour's ride on the train, Gladys was in gay spirits, chattering about her new doll and arranging its pretty clothes, and each time Vera uttered her words, the child would laugh, and Ellen laughed with her. Gladys was a girl ten years old, but to the maid she was still a baby, and although Ellen thought she saw the child's parents making mistakes with her every day, she, like them, was so relieved when Gladys was good-natured that she joined heartily in the little girl's pleasure now over her birthday present.

"Won't Faith's eyes open when she sees Vera?" asked Gladys gayly.

"I expect they will," returned Ellen. "What have you brought with you for her and her brother?"

The child shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing. I meant to but I forgot it, because I was so pleased with Vera. Isn't her hair sweet, Ellen?" and Gladys twisted the soft, golden locks around her fingers.

"Yes, but it would have been nice to bring something for those children. They don't have so much as you do."

"Of course not. I don't believe they have much of anything. You know they're poor. Mother sends them money sometimes, so it's all right." And Gladys poked the point of her finger within Vera's rosy lips and touched her little white teeth.

Ellen shook her head and Gladys saw it and pouted. "Why didn't you think of it, then, or mother?" she asked.

"You won't have somebody to think for you all your life," returned Ellen. "You'd better be beginning to think about other people yourself, Gladys. What's that it said on your grandmother's silver bowl?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something about giving and receiving."

"Yes. 'It is more blessed to give than to receive,' that's what it said," and Ellen looked hard at her companion, though with a very soft gaze, too; for she loved this little girl because she had spent many a wakeful night and busy day for her.

"Yes, I remember," returned Gladys. "Grandma had that put on because she wanted me to know how much she would rather give me things than have people give things to her. Anyway, Ellen, if you are going to be cross on my birthday I wish mother had come with me, instead;" and a displeased cloud came over the little-girl's face, which Ellen hastened to drive away by changing the subject. She knew her master and mistress would reprove her for annoying their idol. They always said, when their daughter was unusually naughty or selfish, "Oh, Gladys will outgrow all these things. We Won't make much of them."

By the time they reached the country station, Gladys's spirits were quite restored and, carrying her doll, she left the train with Ellen.

Faith and Ernest had never thought about being humble subjects. Their rich relative who lived in some unknown place and sometimes sent their mother gifts of money and clothing had often roused their gratitude, and when she had written that their cousin Gladys would like to visit the farm on her birthday, they at once set their wits to work to think how they could make her have a good time. They always had a good time themselves, and now that vacation had begun, the days seemed very full of fun and sunshine. They thought it must be hard to live in a city street as their mother had described, it to them, and even though she was away now and could not advise them, they felt as if they could make Gladys enjoy herself.

Faith's hair was shingled as short as her brother's, and her gingham frock was clean and fresh. She watched each person descend from the train, and when a pretty girl with brown eyes and curls appeared, carrying a large doll, Faith's bright gaze grew brighter, and she was delighted to find that it was Gladys. She took it for granted that kind-faced Ellen, so well dressed in black, was her aunt, and greeted her so, but Gladys's brown eyes widened.

"My mother couldn't come, for father needed her," she explained. "This is my maid, Ellen."

Faith made the introductions and then helped Gladys and Ellen into the back seat of the wagon, all unconscious of her cousin's wonder at the absence of silver mountings and broadcloth cushions. Then Faith climbed over the wheel into the seat beside her brother, and the horse started. She turned about so as to talk more easily with her guest.

"What a beautiful doll!" she said admiringly.

"Yes," returned Gladys, "this is my birthday, you know."

"Oh, then, is it new? I thought it was! Hasn't she the prettiest clothes? Have you named her yet?"

"Her name is Vera. Mother says it means true, or truth, or something like that."

Ernest turned half around to glance at the object of the girls' admiration; but he thought Gladys herself a much more attractive creature than the doll.

"I suppose your cousin Gladys can't ask you to admire her doll much, Master Ernest," said Ellen. She liked these rosy children at once, and the fresh, sunlit air that had painted their cheeks.

"Oh, it's pretty enough," returned Ernest, turning back and clucking to the horse.

Gladys enjoyed Faith's pleasure. She would not try to show off Vera's supreme accomplishment in this rattlety-banging wagon. How it did jounce over occasional stones in the country road!