flowers were all well drenched. A few
minutes afterwards her grand mother called her
in to supper; so she bade me good-night in
a sweet affectionate way, as if we had been
acquainted for years; and called back to me,
as she opened the door, not to forget our
ramble on the morrow.

My Greek verbs, that night, were more
impracticable than ever, and would not be
mastered on any account. Far sweeter to me
than Attic or Doric dialect was Salome's
soft southern accent, which kept ringing in
my memory like an echo of blissful music.
It was so different from our broad north
country tongue. Then her words were so
well chosen; and her sentences so fluent and
elegantly turned; and she was so
self-possessed when speaking, never hesitating
nor stammering in the least, that I felt like
an awkward booby in comparison, and
wondered how I dared address her at all.
Musing thus, I fell asleep; but was haunted
through the night by those restless melancholy
eyes, and those long white arms; the
property, as I dreamt, of a procession of
people, but always preserving a wonderful
individuality of their own.

The next day was warm, hazy, and spring-like,
though somewhat moist. Light feathery
mists floated, like the grey hair of old age,
round the scarred summit of Scawfell. We
set off soon after dinner. As long as we
were in the town, Salome walked in demure
silence by my side, like a well-bred young
lady incapable of the slightest enthusiasm.
But when we reached the fields, she seemed
transformed at once into a different creature.
Her eyes sparkled, her whole being became
animated. She fluttered like a butterfly,
before, behind, and on every side of me;
plucking a flower here, and another there, so
that her straw hat was soon filled with flowers;
while thick masses of hair, escaping from her
net, fell confusedly round her neck.
Sometimes a cry of delight gave notice that she
had seen another nest in the hedge;
sometimes she chased the lazy crows till they rose
heavily from the ground, flapping their large
black wings; sometimes a golden beetle, or
other strange insect glancing in the grass,
attracted her keen vision, and fascinated
her into stillness for a moment, while she
watched its motions with a curiosity not
unmingled with childlike fear.

We found even more lilies than I had
expected. For nearly an acre round Langley
Farm, near the lake, the ground was thick with
them. I know not whether that black and
gloomy pool affected Salome as it always did
me. It may be that she was simply fatigued;
but she sat down beside it, and fell a musing
as she gazed into its unfathomable depths,
and let her hat full of flowers lay unheeded by
her side. Many a time, when a child, have I
too gazed into its awful blackness, till I
seemed to see endless processions of armed
men marching far beneath its surface; or a
long caravan of camels wending slowly
through an Arabian desert; or the ruins of
a castle, buried in its waters a thousand
years ago; or, worse than all, a ghastly
figure, with long floating hair and wide open
eyes, that stared at me stonily from the
bottom, while it beckoned me with its bony
finger, till the spell became so strong that I
could hardly tear myself away from the
brink, or resist the horrid temptation I felt,
to leap into its silent depths.

She rose up at length, like one awaking
from a dream; and we wandered off together
toward the old farm-house at the head of
the gorge. I was well known there, for I
had frequently written letters for the old
farmer, he being no scholar, to his eldest
son, settled in the valley of the Mississippi.
He was busy somewhere in the fields, but
his wife gave us a cordial welcome; and
set before us honey, and home-made bread,
and new milk in white china cups. We
feasted sumptuously, seated at the foot of
the large chesnut that overshadows the
porch. Nothing could be more delicious.
And then we must see the garden, and the
busy hives, and the sleek cows, and be
initiated into the mystery of making butter.
All these things I had seen frequently
before; but to Salome everything was fresh
and interesting. The sun was beginning to
go down before we left the farmhouse, and
we had still our lilies to gather. And so we
returned home in the cool dewy evening,
laden with our flowery spoil.

The happy days sped swiftly on. Salome
and I became to each other like brother and
sister. She had come like a sunbeam, and, as
such, she must soon pass away; leaving
nothing but memory behind. That intense
craving for something to love, common, I
think, to all children, was now satisfied for a
time, and I was all the happier for its being
so. She had read none but serious books. I
opened for her the golden gates of Fairyland,
and introduced her into the wondrous
world of fiction—not indeed that it was
fiction to her, dear child, but a bright
and glorious reality; though I myself was
growing rather too old for such things.
When tired of reading, we easily peopled a
world of our own, in which we experienced
the most astonishing adventures together,
escaped all sorts of dangers in the most
wonderful manner, and were subject to the most
surprising changes of fortune.

We saw with dismay the end of the
fortnight approaching. Mrs. Chinfeather,
Salome's aunt, was to call for her on her way
back from Scotland; whither she had gone
for the benefit of her health. I was on the
watch for Mrs. Chinfeather when she came.
I was curious to see what kind of a person
she was. My wish was gratified; I saw her.

She was a well-fed lady, of an uncertain
age, handsomely dressed in green satin. I
had an opportunity of studying her better