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,