“Do--you--really?” she said, with the old timid joy in her soft voice. “I ain’t dreamin’? Well, God’s so good to me! But I did save her. ‘Bonnibel!’ I said--‘Bonnibel!’ an’ she come right straight ter me with her pretty head tucked down. Then came all that fire on us. I thought ’twas over. But I saved her--I saved her. Please tell him that--_please_ tell him that. I reckon he’ll sorter remember me kind fur that; don’ you, father?” After a while her reason came again. She asked to see Bonnibel; they could bring her to the window, she said, and she would like also to give her a handful of grass. They rolled the bed to the window, and little Hicks led Bonnibel up beside it. Roden went out himself and gathered a handful of fresh grass. I think the lad only respected his master more for the tears that ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t see very distinctly himself just then, this good little Hicks. “Bonnibel,” said the girl, in her cooing tones--“Bonnibel.” What was the matter? Had suffering charged some magic in that soft voice? Bonnibel turned indifferently away from the anxious hand, and rubbed her bright head with an impatient movement against one of her fore-legs. “Oh!” said the girl, while the glad flush died out of her face, and the green blades fell from her hold upon the window-sill, “Bonnibel don’ know me any more--she don’ care. I gave my life for her, an’--an’ she don’ care.” “Yes, she does--she does,” said Roden, frantic for her disappointment; “she’s just gorged, the little glutton! She’s been out at grass ever since you saved her, Virginia dear; that’s all.” “No, ’tain’t,” said the girl, sadly. “I ain’t the same, I reckon; I reckon I’m right near gone, Mr. Jack. Well, I saved her, anyhow. The most part fell on me; she kicked herself loose. Please, father, ef Mr. Jack don’ come in time--_please_, father, tell him ez how I saved Bonnibel. Oh, father, I mus’ tell somebody ’fore I go. I kyarn’ bear to think there won’t be anybody in all th’ world ez knows it when I’m gone. I loved him, father dear--I loved him so! An’ I’ve been mighty wicked; an’ God’s been mighty good ter me; an’ I’m goin’ to heaven, mammy says. But I won’t have him even there--I won’t have him--even there.” The soft voice broke suddenly--stopped. The bright head dropped forward on her breast. Roden had buried his face in her two pale hands. When he looked up, old Herrick was closing gently with his toil-roughened hand the sweet wide eyes which never more would look on anything this side the stars. It was at this moment that Bonnibel, repenting, perhaps, of her former coldness, thrust in her little deer-head at the open window, and drew a long sighing breath as of contentment. The blades of grass dropped from the thin hand now so still upon the stirless bosom were blown along the window-sill by the mare’s warm breath. THE END. A BROTHER TO DRAGONS, AND OTHER OLD-TIME TALES. By AMÉLIE RIVES. Post 8vo, Cloth, Extra, $1 00.