What agony, to watch some one in peril when you may not lift a finger to save! Harry never knew such torture as at this moment. Slowly the little heroine works her way up. Will her strength give out? Oh, you Aunt Sophias, take care how you deride the bashful people! And did you ever hear what the wag said to the philosopher? “Why don’t you hold your head up, as I do?” And this is what the philosopher said to the wag: “If you will examine the heads of wheat in yonder field you will find that only those which are erect are empty.” To those watching, the moments seem like hours. Ah, Bessie sees them at last. Wait!—now—quick! Four hands are reached to her, grasp her, lift her with her burden up over the brink. And now that there is no further need of exertion, she sinks back, weak and helpless, in Kate’s arms. “Take the child to her mother, Harry, and bring me water—water!” “Why, where have you been, darling?” asks Mrs. McAllister, suddenly remembering her, now that Darwin is disposed of. “Me did do to find mo’ bewies.” What with laving her forehead, and the fanning, and the cool drink, Bessie soon revives. “She had got down a good ways when I saw her first. I had to follow so still, for fear of frightening her.” So she explains. “It was her hat that lay here made me think to look down.” “What does it mean?” “What has happened?” “Did she faint away?” ask one and another, hurrying up; for all but the two witnesses are still ignorant of that fearful scene. “You tell them, Harry,” says Kate; “tell it to them all! tell it to them all! We’ll have it put in the morning papers. We’ll trumpet it from the house-tops and the corners of the streets.” And hugging the little girl, “Ah, my sweet, you needn’t blush so! I mean they shall appreciate you.” And noting the cries of wonder and admiration which follow the boy’s announcements, and the crowd that presses around her shy little friend, and cannot make enough of her, Mademoiselle is overheard saying softly to herself: “Why one can be brave, even in these days.” [1] The red hats worn by cardinals. THE OLD MONSIEUR’S STORY. “Lieutenant, they want I should ask you for a story.”