fashion of other parts, which had been rumpled as she slept, fell over my breast and almost down to my knees. I had never seen anything so perfect as her pale face, her clear blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, her gentle, tired air, and even a perfectly black mark at one corner of her mouth, which made her beauty something strange and never to be forgotten. 

 She seemed so young that my heart said nothing to me, though it was close to hers; yet it was not so much her want of years, perhaps, as the languor of her illness that made her appear so childish. I did not speak to her, and walked along without thinking her heavy; but I took pleasure in looking at her, the same pleasure that one feels at the sight of any fine thing, whether it be a girl or a woman, a flower or a fruit. 

 As we neared the second mud-hole, where her father and mine began, the one to urge his horse, the other to shove the wheel, the little girl spoke to me in a language which made me laugh, for I did not understand a word of it. She was surprised at my surprise, and then she spoke in the language we all speak. 

 "Don't strain yourself carrying me," she said; "I can walk very well without sabots; I am as much used to it as others." 

 "Yes, but you are ill," said I; "and I could carry four like you. What country do you belong to? That was a queer language you spoke just now." 

 "What country?" she said.  "I don't belong to any country; I come from the woods, that's all. And you, where do you come from?" 

 "Ah! my little fairy, if you belong to the woods, I belong to the fields," I answered, laughing. 

 I was going to question her further, when her father came and took her from me. 

 "Well," he said, shaking hands with my father, "I thank you, my good people. And you, little one, kiss the kind lad who has carried you like a load of game." 

 The child did as she was bid; she was not old enough to be coy, and thinking no harm, she made no difficulty. She kissed me on both cheeks, saving: "Thanks to you, my fine carrier;" then, passing into her father's arms, she was laid on her mattress, and seemed about to go to sleep again, without minding the jolts or thinking about the risks of the journey. 

 "Good-bye again!" said her father, taking me by the knee, to mount me on the mare's crupper.  "A fine lad!" he remarked to my 

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