“Randy don’t often forget that,” said Mrs. Weston, at which unwonted bit of praise, Randy flushed with delight. Mrs. Weston was a hard-working woman who loved her husband and children dearly, but so busy was she, that she forgot to say the encouraging word, or give the bit of praise, justly won, which seems a reward to the husband for his care and toil, and to the child for “being good.” When the hot forenoon’s work was done, and the dinner dishes put away, Randy and Prue started for the brook, Randy carrying the wonderful book very carefully, and little Prue skipping along beside her. Across the fields, behind the barn, into a bit of woodland went the children, and there they found the brook, calm and placid in one place, rippling and chattering in another. “Hark! hear it talk,” said Randy, but practical little Prue said, “It only says ‘wobble, wobble, wobble,’ as it goes over the stones, and I don’t call that talking.” “Well, I do,” said Randy, “and I always wonder what it says.” “How’ll you find out?” said Prue. “Oh, Prue!” said Randy, “what makes you ask questions that nobody could answer?” “But somebody could,” said the child; “if it really says anything, somebody, somewhere, would know what it means, now wouldn’t they, Randy?” “I do believe there is some one who could understand it.” Randy spoke so earnestly that Prue stopped throwing pebbles at the water-spiders and throwing her arms around Randy, she said, “Oh, Randy! don’t look that way. When your eyes get big, and you just think and think, it makes me lonesome. Do begin to read the fairy stories.” So Randy roused herself from her dream about the brook, and sat down, with Prue close beside her, on a rough plank which spanned the tiny stream. There, with the book upon her lap, and one arm around her little sister, she read the tales of wonder and enchantment, while the sunlight, sifting through the leaves, touched her hair and made a halo around the sweet face. Parts of the stories were too much for little Prue to understand, but such of them as her small brain could take in delighted her. Randy read very well, although she had had but little schooling, and her delight in the splendor which the stories described gave added expression to her reading, and delighted little Prue exclaimed, “Oh, Randy, you make it seem as if it was true!” Randy laughed, well pleased with the compliment, and continued reading: “‘And as soon as she heard the witch’s voice, she unbound her tresses.’” “What’s ‘tresses’?” interrupted Prue. “Why, hair,” explained Randy. “Then, why didn’t they say ‘hair’?” said the child. “Tresses sounds nicer,” answered Randy. “I don’t know,” said Prue, doubtfully. “Well, I do,” said Randy. “If my hair was long, I’d enough rather have it called tresses.” “I’ll call it tresses,” said obliging little Prue, “even if it isn’t very long. Now, go on, Randy.”