They buried him where he lay; and for years the lonely mound under the great oak was kept green by loving hands. Wild roses bloomed there, and the murmur of the Long River of Pines was a fit lullaby for faithful Onawandah. [Illustration] Little Things "That's the sort I like," said Geoff, as the story ended; "Onawandah was a trump, and I'd give a good deal to know such a fellow, and go hunting with him. Got any more like it, aunty?" "Perhaps; but it is the girls' turn now, and here is a quiet little story that teaches the same lesson in a different way. It contains a hint which some of you would better take;" and Aunt Elinor glanced around the circle with a smile that set her hearers on the alert to see who was to be hit. "Hope it isn't _very_ moral," said Geoff, with a boyish dislike of being preached at. "It won't harm you to listen, and take the moral to heart, my lad. Wild horses, gold mines, and sea scrapes, are not the only things worth reading about. If you ever do half so much good in the world as the people in this story did, I shall be proud of you," answered Aunt Elinor, so soberly that Geoff folded his hands, and tried to look meekly impressed. "Is it true?" asked Min. "Yes. I heard 'Abby' tell it herself, and saw the silk stocking, and the scar." "That sounds _very_ interesting. I do like to hear about good clothes and awful accidents," cried the girl, forgetting to spin, in her eagerness to listen. They all laughed at her odd mixture of tastes, and then heard the story of LITTLE THINGS. Abigail sat reading "Rasselas" aloud to her father while he shaved, pausing now and then to explain a word or correct the girl's pronunciation; for this was a lesson, as well as a pleasure. The handsome man, in his nankin dressing-gown, ruffled shirt, black small-clothes, and silk stockings, stood before the tall, old-fashioned bureau, looking often from the reflection of his own ruddy face to the pale one beside him, with an expression of tender pride, which plainly showed how dear his young daughter was to him. Abby was a slender girl of fifteen, in a short-waisted gingham gown, with a muslin tucker, dimity apron, and morocco shoes on a pair of small feet demurely crossed before her. A blue-eyed, brown-haired little creature, with a broad brow, and a sweet mouth, evidently both intelligent and affectionate; for she heartily enjoyed the story, and answered her father's approving glances with a face full of the loving reverence so beautiful to see.