It is a pity that one’s skirt, when held up, does not divide itself into compartments, like some vegetable dishes. One is so apt to get flowers first, and then lumps of moss, which spoil the flowers, and then more moss, which, earth downwards (as bread and butter falls), does no good to the rest. Amabel had on a nice, new dress, and it held things beautifully. But it did not hold enough, for at each step of the zig-zag path the moss grew lovelier. She had got some extinguisher-moss from the top of the wall, and this now lay under all the rest, which flattened the extinguishers. About half way down the dress was full, and some cushion-moss appeared that could not be passed by. Amabel sat down and reviewed her treasures. She could part with nothing, and she had just caught sight of some cup-moss lichen for dolls’ wine-glasses. But, by good luck, she was provided with a white sun-bonnet, as clean and whole as her dress; and this she took off and filled. It was less fortunate that the scale-mosses and liverworts, growing nearer to the stream, came last, and, with the damp earth about them, lay a-top of every thing, flowers, dolls’ wine-glasses, and all. It was a noble collection—but heavy. Amabel’s face flushed, and she was slightly overbalanced, but she staggered sturdily along the path, which was now level. She had quite forgotten Nurse’s warning, when she came suddenly upon a figure crouched in her path, and gazing at her with large, black eyes. Her fat cheeks turned pale, and with a cry of, “It’s Bogy!” she let down the whole contents of her dress into one of Jan’s leaf-pictures. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t take me away! Please, please don’t!” she cried, dancing wildly. “I won’t hurt you, Miss. I be going to help you to pick ’em up,” said Jan. By the time he had returned her treasures to her skirt, Amabel had regained confidence, especially as she saw no signs of the black bag in which naughty children are supposed to be put. “What are you doing, Bogy?” said she. [Picture: “What are you doing, Bogy?” said she] “I be making a picture, Miss,” said Jan, pointing it out. “Go on making it, please,” said Amabel; and she sat down and watched him. “Do you like this wood, Bogy?” she asked, softly, after a time. “I do, Miss,” said Jan. “Why don’t you sleep in it, then? I wouldn’t sleep in a cellar, if I were you.” “I don’t sleep in a cellar, Miss.” “Nurse _says_ you do,” said Amabel, nodding emphatically. Jan was at a loss how to express the full inaccuracy of Nurse’s statement in polite language, so he was silent; rapidly adding tint to tint from his heap of leaves, whilst the birds sang overhead, and Amabel sat with her two bundles watching him. “I thought you were an old man!” she said, at length. “Oh, no, Miss,” said Jan, laughing. “You don’t look very bad,” Amabel continued. “I don’t think I be very bad,” said Jan, modestly. Amabel’s next questions came at short intervals, like dropping shots.