pond, went out there and examined into the cause of its inky hue. They said that it was due, like the darkness of the water of many creeks and pools, to the overhanging growth of pine, hemlock, and similar trees which surrounded it. They did not explain exactly how this darkening process had been carried on, but they said it probably took hundreds of years to make the pond as black as it now was, and nobody doubted that.

But although the woods and the pond now became a favorite summer resort with the Danford people, it was in winter that they really enjoyed the place the most. Then the Black Pond was frozen over, and it made the finest skating ground in that part of the country. And its greatest merit was its absolute safety. Even if a small boy should break through,—which was not likely to happen,—any man could step in, or reach down and take him out. The ice was generally so thick that there was scarcely three feet of water beneath it, in the deepest parts.

On fine days, during the cold months, people came out to the pond, in carriages and on foot, and they had gay times, with their skating, and their games on the ice. But they were hardly so gay as the folks who could not come in the day-time, but had to do their skating in the evening. On moonlight nights, the pond was beautiful, but the skaters came on dark nights, all the same, for lamp-posts

were set up in different parts of the pond (holes were cut in the ice, and they were planted firmly on the bottom), and thus the pond was made as bright and cheerful as the merriest skater could desire.

Among the merriest skaters was Curtis Blake, for skating was one of the few things he could do, and Mr. Faulkner gave him a capital pair of skates.

But this was not all the reward he received for solving the mystery of the Black Pond. Several of the leading citizens, who thought that the town owed him something for giving it such a pleasant place of resort, consulted together on the subject, and it was decided to make him keeper of the woods and pond. He had a couple of old men under him, and it was his duty to see that the woods were kept in order in summer, and that the pond was free from snow and obstructions in winter.

And thus the great mystery of the Black Pond came to an end. But there were elderly people in the town, who never went out to the pond, and who believed that something dreadful would happen there yet. There used to be no bottom to the pond, they said, and they should not wonder if, some day, it should fall out again.

"Yes," said Curtis Blake to one of these, "I expect that will happen,-just about the time my arms begin to grow."

OH, tell me when does Someday come,
That wonderful bright day,
Where all the best times are put off,
And pleasures hid away!

I know the rest of all the days
Just as they read and run;
Can say and spell them week by week,
And count them one by one.

They bring me, now and then, fine things,
Gay toys, and jolly play;

But never, never such fine things
As are kept hid away

In that great wonder-land that lies
Forever out of sight,
Which I can never, never find
By any day or night.

HE never expected me to tell you about it; in fact, she never expected me at all. People do not begin by being great-grandmothers, though you might have thought she looked very like one, if you had caught sight of her in her quaint dress, tripping along the wide gravelwalk that wound about the spacious grounds; or if you had seen her leaving the steps of the old family mansion for the visit that I shall tell you about. It was Sunday morning, and, although she was not going to church, she had a leather-covered prayer-book folded in her handkerchief in one hand. In the other was a small basket covered with a napkin. Her name, "Melicent Moore," was written in the book. She went out and climbed upon the tall horse-block, and stood there tilting about, first on one foot, and then on the other, for she had not begun to feel grandmothery, and it was hard to keep still with the sun twinkling at her through the sweet gum-tree, and all the birds singing their merriest. Her father came out presently, and when he was settled in his saddle, and her mother on a red velvet pillion behind him, he reached out a strong arm and lifted Melicent up in front of him. The great horse stepped off as easily as if he considered the load not worth mentioning, and so they rode on through the piny woods; for this was in Virginia, in the good Old Colony times, when people lived in peace, and prayed for Parliament and King George. The sandy road was carpeted with brown pine-needles, and everything was so sweet, and warm, and spicy, that Melicent began to chatter, but her father said gravely :

sang on Sunday, and where the Lord staid on week-days, and why He did n't like to hear little girls talk.

It

By and by, they came to a shallow brook. was as full of sunshine as it could hold, and carried it right down through the woods. The road crossed it, and went on beyond it; but at the ford a narrow foot-path came in, leading along the bank as if it was lonesome, and kept close to the brook for company.

Melicent knew the path very well. She traveled it every day to the next plantation, when she went to lessons with her three cousins and their governess. She was going now to see Phillis, a very old negro woman, who had been her mother's nurse, and who insisted upon living by herself in a little cabin out in the woods. Phillis was born in Africa, and had been a princess in her own land, she said, which might very likely have been true. She loved her mistress, but she scorned the other servants, and to the day of her death was an obstinate old heathen at heart, recognizing the Bible and the prayer-book, and the heaven they taught about, as very good for white folks, but expecting beyond a doubt to go straight to Africa the moment her spirit should be free.

Melicent's father stopped at the ford, and put her carefully down from her perch.

"Remember the Sabbath day, my daughter," said her mother, "and read to Phillis the lessons I marked in your prayer-book."

"Yes, Mamma," said Melicent, and stood a moment to watch the black horse step slowly into the bright water, and put down his head to drink right in a swirl of dancing ripples. It looked as if the little flecks of gold were running into his mouth, and she laughed to herself very softly, and then went on up the brook. Phillis's cabin stood in a little hollow, so that you could not see it until you suddenly found the brown roof right at your feet, as you sometimes find a ground-bird's nest. The cabin was so weather-beaten, and so covered with creepers, that it looked a good deal like a nest in the tangle.

Melicent went on watching the brook, and the birds, and the squirrels, and thinking that, when she should become an old woman, she, too, would

Melicent did not quite understand, but she kept silence, and wondered--wondered why the birds

of a sudden, she stopped on the top of the knoll, and looked down into the little empty hollow. The brown nest was gone as completely as if

Melicent's heart thrilled with fear and astonishment. The sunshiny woods seemed awfully lonesome, and she tried to call out, but her voice only made a faint little sound. She thought of earthquakes and everything horrible. She re

membered that somebody had said Phillis was a witch and would never die, but would just disappear. What if she had gone, and taken her house with her?

•My Creat Crand mother

Starts To See Avat Phillis.

Just then she remembered the verse she had learned that morning: "Therefore will we not fear, though the earth be removed." She felt as if some one had spoken the words to her, and she walked bravely down into the hollow. The cabin had been burned: there was no

dreth's, and Melicent looked down the path with an idea of going to see, when she caught sight of a handkerchief waved feebly from a little playhouse of rails and pine-branches which she and her cousins had made just back among the trees. She was there in a moment, down on her knees by

Phillis, kissing her wrinkled, old face, and calling her as loving names as she might have lavished upon her own beautiful grandmother.

"Oh, Phillis! I thought you were burned up. I was so frightened. What made the house burn?" "Don' know; fire mos' likely; could ye make me a cup o' tea, honey? The things is all in that heap, whar I dropped them. The tea is in a blue mug, and I kivered up some coals in the bakekittle; but I 'se powerful weak this mornin'."

Melicent remembered her basket, and brought out a bottle of blackberry cordial which seemed to refresh Phillis wonderfully, and then the child

But it

that her father was coming to the ford. seemed to her that ages and ages went by, and an awful stillness crept up from the woods. The brook was all in the shadow, now. What if they should forget to stop for her, and she and Phillis should have to stay there all night? She looked at Phillis again, and crept a little farther away. She was so still, and there was something cold in her face, it made her feel lonesome to be near her. She got up softly and sat under the big pine, and watched and listened, and fell asleep.

Away down at the ford the hunting-whistle sounded sweet and clear. Not very loud, for it was

made her a cup of tea. She was sorry for Phillis, but it was prime fun to have the old woman in her play-house, and actually to make tea herself, out there in the woods. There was enough for both of them in the little basket, and Melicent conscientiously read the lessons in the prayer-book, though Phillis went to sleep. It was a long day, after all, for Phillis was too tired to tell her stories, yet insisted that she should not go away.

Once, when Phillis had been asleep, she began to talk in a strange language and throw her arms about, and Melicent was afraid.

"Phillis," she said, "I think I 'd better call Uncle Hildreth. I'll run all the way."

"Set still, honey. I'se mighty comf'table; my j'ints is wrenched draggin' the bed and things out o' the fire," and Phillis went off in a doze again.

Melicent read her prayer-book, and listened for the sound of the hunting-whistle that would tell her

Sunday, and the stillness was too sacred to be profaned. The black horse waited, but no Melicent came dancing down the path, so her father came, and found her asleep under the pine-tree.

"Oh, father," she said, when she waked in his arms, "the cabin is burned up, and Phillis is so tired, she sleeps and sleeps.'

Her father was a quiet man, and he only kissed her, and carried her to where the black horse was waiting impatiently, bearing her mother.

"Take her home," he said to her mother, "and send Homer back to me. Old Phillis is dead." Melicent's mother put one arm about her as they rode home, but she did not ask many questions. "Is Phillis in heaven?" asked Melicent, timidly. "I hope so," said her mother.

"Because," said the little girl, "if they let her choose, I know she 'd go to Africa, and then I never shall see her again."

himself when men and horses come out to hunt, and his mamma has to run for her life, leaving him far behind. This is the baby's only trick, and it is simply to lie down and keep perfectly still. In that way he generally escapes being seen, and when hunters and horses have gone home, and the mother comes back, she is pretty sure to find her little one all safe and well.

When the fawn is a year old, he arrives at the dignity of his first horns, and is called no more a fawn, but a brocket. Each succeeding year he gets one more branch to his antlers, and increases in beauty till he is full-grown and worthy of his proud name-the Royal Stag.

His antlers are his glory, and are as wonderful as they are beautiful. Every year the whole great

and are said to be "in the velvet." When his antlers are fully grown and hard, the proud stag rubs them against trees and bushes till he tears off the velvet in strings and tatters, and then he is ready to take his place in society once more.

Hunting the stag has been the favorite sport in Europe from the days of flint-head arrows till now, when the few that survive the long war upon their race live in parks provided for them, cared for by armed keepers, and protected by strong laws.

The deer-parks are large, and inclose ample forests, for though the beautiful shy creatures will come hesitatingly around the sheds that men have built, and timidly eat of the hay, and lick the salt that men have provided, they are not tame. Ages of hunting have made them quick to take fright.