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.

[Illustration]

THE FOUR EVANGELISTS.

BY REV.  H.R.  NYE.

My Young Friends: 

I love to hear and to tell stories nearly as well as when I was a child; but I cannot write them for others to read.  Even small children are sometimes great critics.  At any rate, I shall not venture at story-telling here.