“But you are safe, Allie, now.  Lie down again, dear.  You are weak yet.”

So I lay back on the soft pillow with a feeling of rest and content in my heart, such as had never been there before.  I cared to ask no questions.  It was enough that I was safe, with my mother beside my bed and the early sunbeams flickering on the wall opposite.  It was a long time before I thought of even Georgie.  When I asked for him, mamma’s eyes filled with tears.  “Dear Allie,” she said, “Georgie saved your life.  My little girl would have been taken away from me, but for him.  He caught you when you slipped, and, tired as he was, held you up till help came.  He fainted as soon as papa took him into the boat.  We thought you were both dead!” Her voice broke in a sob, and she clasped me closer in her arms.  “He is better now,” she went on.  “Allie, we must never forget his courage.  Thank God, he was with you!”

“Mamma, O mamma!” I cried, “he said he was trying to be like Saint George. Isn’t he like him?  He saved me, and he prayed there in the dark—­and, O mamma, I love him so for it!”

“Yes, Allie,” answered my mother, “not one of the old knights was braver than ours, and not one of all the saints did better service in the sight of God than our little Saint George last night.”

BORN IN PRISON.

BY JULIA P. BALLARD.

[Illustration:  THE PRISONERS.]

I am only a day old!  I wonder if every butterfly comes into the world to find such queer things about him?  I was born in prison.  I can see right through my walls; but I can’t find any door.  Right below me (for I have climbed up the wall) lies a queer-looking, empty box.  It is clear, and a pale green.  It is all in one piece, only a little slit in the top.  I wonder what came out of it.  Close by it there is another green box, long and narrow, but not empty, and no slit in the top.  I wonder what is in it.  Near it is a smooth, green caterpillar, crawling on the edge of a bit of cabbage-leaf.  I’m afraid that bright light has hurt my eyes.  It was just outside of my prison wall, and bright as the sun.  The first thing I remember, even before my wings had opened wide, or I was half through stretching my feet to see if I could use them in climbing, there was a great eye looking at me.  Something round was before it, with a handle.  I suppose it was a quizzing-glass to see what I was about.  I heard somebody say, “Oh! oh!” twice, just as if they wondered I was here.  Then they held the great bright light close to the wall till my eyes were dazzled.  I don’t like this prison.  It isn’t worth while to fly about.  It seems as if I ought to have more room.  There must be something inside that green box.  It moves!  I saw it half tip over then, all of itself.  I believe that caterpillar is afraid of it.  He creeps off slowly toward the wall.  How smooth and green he is!  How his rings move when he crawls!