“And Sweet William said to Clove Pink, ‘How sweet the fringe on your gown is! Will you dance with me, pretty lady?’ So they danced away and away, and they met Bachelor’s Button waltzing with Cowslip, and young Larkspur kicking up his heels with Poppy Gay, and Prince’s Feather bowing low before sweet white Lily in her satin gown, and Crown Imperial leading out Queen Rose—oh! but she was a queen indeed! And the music played—such music! the locust went tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, and the cricket went chirp, chirp, chirp, and the big green frog that played the bass viol said ‘glum! glum! glum!’ And they danced—oh, they danced! “Whirl about, twirl about, hop, hop, hop! till—hush! something happened. Oh! children, come close while I whisper. The green turf of the Ring trembled and shook—and opened—and—oh! off go the flowers scampering back to bed as fast as they can go; and in their places—oh! hush! oh, hush! I must not tell. “Green jacket, red cap, and white owl’s feather! Little lights that twinkle, little bells that jingle, little feet that trip, trip— “Hush, children! we must not look. Home again, we too, after the flowers!” And she would catch their hands and run with them round and round the field till all were out of breath with running and laughter. The Saturday feasts were begun, Anne Peace reminded me, for the little lame girl who lived a mile beyond the village. The poor little soul had heard of all the merry play that went on at Merion Farm, and had begged her father to bring her in. So one day a long lean tattered man came to the gate and looked wistfully in at Grandmother, who was making daisy chains against the children’s coming. “Mornin’!” he said. “Mis’ Merion to home?” “Yes,” said Grandmother; “at least I am here. Would you like something?” “I swow!” said the man. He looked helplessly at the girlish figure a moment. Then—“My little gal heard tell how that you told yarns to young ’uns, and nothin’ to it but I must fetch her in. She—she ain’t very well—” his rough voice faltered, and he looked back to his wagon. “Is she there?” cried Grandmother. “Oh, but bring her in! bring her in quickly! why, you darling, I am so glad you have come.” A poor little huddle of humanity; hunchbacked, with the strange steadfast eyes of her kind,—wise with their own knowledge, which is apart from all knowledge revealed to those whose backs are straight,—lame, too, drawn and twisted this way and that, as if Nature had been a naughty child playing with a doll, tormenting it in sheer wantonness. A piteous sight; and still more piteous the shrinking look of her and of the poor gaunt wistful father, watchful for a rebuff, a smile, some one of the devilishly cruel tricks that humanity startles into when it touches the unusual.