“Nelly! Nelly! Where can the child be? Nelly! Nelly!” But Nelly Grey was away off in dreamland, and the cheerful tones of her mother’s voice fell all unheeded upon her ear, as did the impatient touch of her little dog Frisk’s cold nose upon her hand. She was sitting on the last step of the vine-covered portico in front of the cottage, the warm June sun smiling down lovingly upon her, and the soft wind kissing the little rings of chestnut-colored hair that clustered about her temples.

What could make the child so quiet? It must be some weighty matter that would still her joyous laugh. Why, she was the merriest little body that ever hunted for violets. There was a laugh lodged in every dimple of her sunny face, and her busy little tongue was all the day long carolling some happy ditty.

“Nelly, what are you dreaming about? I’ve been calling you this long time, and here you are in this warm sun, almost asleep.”

“No, no! mother dear, I’ve only been thinking, and haven’t heard you call once. Only to think that you couldn’t find me mother! how funny!”

“And what has my little girl been thinking of?” said Mrs. Grey, as she lifted Nelly into her lap, and smoothed hack the silky curls from her brow. Nelly laid her rosy cheek close to her mother’s, and wound her small arms about her neck, and told her simple thoughts in a low, sweet voice.

“You know it’s strawberry time, mother, don’t you?”

“Yes, darling.”

“Well, I was thinking, if you would let me, I could pick a big basket full, they are so thick over in our meadow; and maybe Mrs. Preston would buy them of me, for she gives Mr. Jones a heap of money every year for them.”

“And what does Nelly want of a heap of money?”

“Why, mother, little Frisk wants a brass collar, don’t you, Frisk?” Frisk barked and played all sorts of antics to show his young mistress he was very much in need of one. “Think how pretty it would be, mother, round Frisk’s glossy neck. Oh, say that I may do, do, mother!”

Nelly’s pleading proved irresistible, and her mother tied her little sunbonnet under her chin, gave the “big basket” into her hands, and the little girl trudged merrily off, with Frisk jumping and barking by her side to see his young mistress so happy.

Shall I tell how the long summer afternoon wore away, dear little reader, and how the big basket was filled to the tip-top and covered with wild flowers and oak leaves? Shall I tell, or shall I leave you to guess, my little bright eyes? You say, yes? Well, I will tell you about her walk to Mrs. Preston’s after the sun had gone down and the azure blue sky had become changed to a soft, golden hue.

It was a pleasant walk under the drooping trees, and Nelly Grey, swinging her basket carefully on her arm, tripped lightly on her way. Oh, how her blue eyes danced with joy as she looked down upon the little merry Frisk trotting by her side; her bright lips parted as she murmured, “Yes, yes, Frisk shall have a nice new collar, with ’Nelly Grey’s dog, Frisk,’ written upon it;” then Frisk played all sorts of funny antics again, probably by way of thanks.

Ah! but what calls that sudden blush and smile to Nelly’s face? and she had well nigh stumbled, too, and spilt all her strawberries. No wonder she started, for, emerging from under the shadow of the trees, was a handsome lad some half a head taller than Nelly. He was gazing, too, with a witching smile into her face, waiting till it should be the little maiden’s pleasure to notice him. She nodded her pretty little head as demurely as a city belle, laid her small hand lovingly upon Frisk’s curly coat, and walked with a slower and less bounding step than before. But Phil Morton was not to be abashed at this; so he stepped lightly up to Nelly, saying,

“Let me carry your basket; it is too heavy for you.”

The little girl, with many injunctions to be careful and not tip it over, delivered the basket to him; she then told him her project of buying Frisk a collar with the money got by the selling of the strawberries, which young Phil approved of very much, and offered to go with her to buy it, for he knew somebody, he said, that kept them for sale. Nelly joyfully assented to his offer, and thanked him heartily, too, for his kindness.

“There, Phil, we are almost there. I can see the long study window; we have only to pass the widow Mason’s cottage, up the green lane, and we shall be there.”

On they walked, laughing merrily for very lightness of heart, till they were close beside the poor widow’s low cottage window. Suddenly Nelly stopped, and the laugh was hushed upon her bright lips. “Did you hear it, Phil?” she said softly. “Hear what, Nell?” and Phil turned his black eyes slowly round, as if he expected to see some fairy issue from the grove of trees near by. “Why, Lucy Mason’s cough. Mother says she will not live to see the little snow-birds come again. Poor, dear Lucy!” The great tear-drops rolled fast over Nelly’s red cheeks, and fell like rain upon her little hand. “Oh, Phil, I’ll tell you what; I’ll give these strawberries to Lucy. She used to love them dearly.”

“Poh! poh! Nelly; what a silly girl! to give them away when Mrs. Preston will give you such a deal of money for them!”

“But, Phil, Lucy’s mother is poor; she can’t buy them for her, and you can’t think how well Lucy loves them.”

“Well, what if she does, and what if she is poor? can’t her mother pick them over in the fields, if she wants them so bad? I wouldn’t give them away.”

“For shame, Phil Morton! To think of poor old Mrs. Mason’s going over in the fields to pick strawberries, leaving Lucy all alone, and so sick! I shouldn’t have thought it of you, Phil. No, indeed I shouldn’t. Give me the basket,” said Nelly sorrowfully; “I shall give them to Lucy.” Phil silently handed the basket to her, and, without speaking, he followed Nelly as she went round to the cottage door.

The tears ran silently down the poor widow’s cheek as she led the children to her sick child’s room, for it touched her heart to see young and thoughtless children so attentive to her poor Lucy. “And did you come all this way, you and Phil, Nelly, to bring me these nice strawberries?” without waiting for her to reply, she turned to a little choice tea-rose that stood beside her, and, breaking off two half-blown buds, she gave them to Phil and Nelly, saying as she did so, “It’s all I have to give you, darlings, for your kindness to me, but I know that you will like them as coming from your sick friend.”

The bright blood flashed over Phil’s dark brow and crimsoned even his ears. Poor Phil! The shame and remorse of those few minutes washed away his unthinking sin, and Nelly forgave him, and tried with all her power to make him forget it. But the kind though thoughtless boy was not satisfied until he had sent Lucy a pretty little basket filled with rare and beautiful flowers, gathered from his father’s large garden. Then, and not till then, did he look with pleasure upon the rose Lucy had given him.

Some time after the above occurrence, perhaps a week, Nelly was sitting in her low rocking-chair, under the shadow of the portico, sewing as busily as her nimble little fingers would let her, when a shadow darkened the sunlit walk leading to the house. Nelly saw it, and knew well enough who it was; but there she sat, her pretty little mouth pursed up, and her merry blue eyes almost closed, working faster than ever.

“Oh! is it you, Phil?” she exclaimed, as Phil Morton bounded lightly over the railing beside her, (for he disdained the sober process of walking up the steps;) “how you frightened me!” He frighten her! Though he was naughty sometimes, and scared the little birds, he would not think of frightening Nelly Grey. No, not he.

“Oh! Phil, I have something to show you,” said the little girl, after a while, and then she raised her voice and called, “Frisk! Frisk!” Frisk was not far away from Nelly, and presently he came lazily along, shaking his silky coat as if he did not quite relish being waked from his nap so abruptly.

“But what is that shining so brightly around his neck can it be a collar? Well, it is, sure enough. But where did you get it, Nell?” said Phil, turning to her in amazement.

“Mrs. Preston, the minister’s wife, gave it to me; how she came to know I wanted it, I can’t think.”

“But I can, Nell. She heard us when we were talking, I’ll bet; for you know she came in just after we did, and she gave it to you for being so good.”

“Oh no, Phil! I only did what anybody else would have done.”

“Anybody? You know I didn’t want to Nelly,” said Phil sadly.

“Oh, never mind that, Phil; you did afterward, you know.”

“Well, but, Nell, I know she gave it to you for being so good. Isn’t there something on the collar?”

“No, only Frisk’s name;” and she turned to examine it with Phil.

“There, Nell! what do you call this?” and Phil triumphantly held up the edge of the collar, on which was written, “Nelly’s reward for self-denial."

“Why, Phil, I never saw it before; isn’t it queer?”

“Queer, that you didn’t see it before? Yes; but it isn’t queer that she gave it to you No, not at all; I should have thought she would.”

“Oh, Phil, how you praise me! you mustn’t,” said Nelly, her pink cheeks deepening into scarlet.

She deserved praise, did not she? for she was a very good little girl. But I will not tire you with any more about her now. So good-by, my sweet little reader.

NORA.