What if he was a poor little lad, with a torn straw hat set on his tangled black curls, a sunburned face, a patched coat, trowsers rolled up to his knees, and below them naked legs and feet? He was another child—an angel from her own heaven! He had come with the sun and the spring, with the birds and the flowers. Here was the crowning joy of the season indeed. He would be her playmate. He would not rail and weep like Eusebie, nor sigh and groan like Marcel. He would be glad like herself. Without an instant’s hesitation she ran down to him. Children, when left to their own intuition, are the most simple and natural democrats and republicans. They care nothing and know nothing of caste. When misled by others, they may become the most repulsive little aristocrats alive. She stood before him breathless, smiling. As for the boy, he looked up at her in pleased surprise at the brightest vision that had ever gladdened his eyes. “Little boy!” she exclaimed, in a tone of kindly greeting. “Yes, little girl,” he answered, as he arose, dropping his nets and taking off his torn hat. “I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaimed, smiling. “So am I, you. Will you sit down on the boat? It is quite dry,” he said, as he pointed to the upturned skiff upon which he himself had been seated. “Oh, yes, I thank you. I would like to sit down because I have been walking all over the promontory and I am so tired,” she said, as she seated herself. “Put your feet on this stone, the sands are damp,” said the lad, as he placed a flat piece of rock near her. “Yes; I thank you. And you sit down, too. Don’t you stand,” she continued. He obeyed the little lady, and seated himself beside her. “Oh, I am so glad I found you!” she exclaimed, with dancing eyes. “So am I you; very glad,” he answered, quietly. “Have you got anybody to play with?” was her next question. “No,” he replied. “No more have I. What is your name, little boy?” “Dave.” “Dave? That means David, doesn’t it?” “Yes, David; but everybody calls me Dave.” “Well, what else is your name besides David?” “Lindsay—David Lindsay.” “Oh! Uncle reads to us about one— “‘Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, Lord Lion, King at Arms.’ Was he any kin to you?” “No, there ain’t no kings nor lions about here,” replied the lad, laughing. “I don’t know. I didn’t think there was any children or playmates about here; but after finding you I should not wonder if I found kings and lions and—and dwarfs and fairies.” “I never saw any about here,” said the lad, decidedly. “David Lindsay, don’t you want to know what my name is?” “Yes, I do.” “Well, then, why don’t you ask me?” “Because—I don’t know—I didn’t like to.” “Well, my name is Maria da Gloria de la Vera!” “Oh! what a long name!” “Yes, but it is a beautiful name, with a beautiful meaning.” “What does it mean?” “I believe, but I don’t quite know, that it means the Glory of the Truth, or something like that.”