“Why don’t you remember?” said the Fairy, and she flew on to his shoulder and began whispering in his ear. But he thought it was his own thoughts. And he remembered old times, and how he had played and enjoyed himself when he was a child; but now he had grown learned, and had been to Oxford, and had been made a Professor, he had forgotten how to play. “Heigho!” he said, “learning isn’t everything. I wish I were young again.” “I can do that for you,” said the Fairy. “How old are you?” “I’m not thirty yet,” he said. “Then I’ll make him young,” she said to herself, “in return for his letting me out of that dreadful book. Look out of the window,” she said to him. And again it seemed to him that it was his own thoughts he heard. And through the window he saw the little girl he used to play with, only now she was grown a fair lady, and suddenly he grew young again, and went out to her. And she met him with a smile, and they went out into the fields and picked buttercups and daisies, and came back and had strawberries and cream for tea. “It’s good to be young again, my love,” said the Professor. And the Fairy kept him young to the end of his days. _E. Nesbit._ [Illustration] THE BUNCH OF VIOLETS. ONCE upon a time there was a little girl named Nettie, who lived with an Aunt and cousin. She was very unhappy, for her naughty cousin used to tell falsehoods about her, which the Aunt believed. Poor Nettie was constantly being punished for faults which she had not committed, but she was so patient and obedient that her Aunt’s heart was touched at last. “Nettie does everything that I tell her,” said the woman to her daughter; “I do not think that she can be such a very bad girl, after all.” “I know of something she could not do,” said Nettie’s spiteful cousin; “only let me try her!” “Well, just this once you may,” replied the girl’s Mother; “but if she does _not_ fail, I shall not allow you to tease or worry her again.” Then they called Nettie, and told her that she must go into the wood and gather a bunch of violets. In spring-time, this would have been an easy task, but it was now mid-winter. Poor Nettie, in a miserably thin frock, wandered forth, shivering and crying. She knew that she should find no violets in such weather, yet she dared not return without them. What was she to do? [Illustration]