whole bunch of beautiful ones. Bring them to me," turning to the footman, "and kill those dirty toads in the path; I hate the sight of them."

Violet rushed to the rescue of her pets.

"O, no, no! they are mine—my own—my best friends—my toads and violets!" she screamed.

But in vain. The footman stepped on poor Toady, kicked him across and across the path, till, all bruised and bleeding, he lay still, and, Violet thought, dead, while Narcissa clapped her hands and laughed at Violet's sorrow.

"Your toads and violets!" she said; "I should think you were crazy. But I don't want to hurt your feelings, girl. Go and bring me two more large handfuls of violets, and I will forgive all your impudence and wrong stories. Why don't you go? What are you staring at?"

CHAPTER IX.

FAIRIES AGAIN.

It had just come into Violet's head that this proud and imperious little mortal in the carriage must be a queen, such as her story books told about, and had a right to every body's service and every body's goods. What strengthened this belief was the fact that, fluttering about Narcissa's head, she saw (and though her face was wet with tears, she stared at it) the queerest little fairy; now, too, she saw another fairy perched on Alfred's arm as he read, and turning over the leaves of his book; while all about the carriage flew a third, the largest and most splendid of all; he trod upon the servant's heads, right over the crown of their hats; he would sit down to rest on the necks of the beautiful white horses, as they pawed the ground; he whirled round and round Narcissa, even daring to pull her own fairy's hair, while he patted Alfred's fairy on the back quite condescendingly.

This little imp was named Pride. He looked, as he flew, like a great scarlet cactus blossom, in his long rich cloak, with heavy tassels, that swept the ground, and left wherever they trailed a very fine dust of gold. In this dust the tassels were dipped continually—powdered over with it, finer than the yellow pollen you may have seen on the stamens of a lily.

The flower pollen is good for something, but not so pride's gold dust. He only scatters it because it is so expensive, and common people cannot do the same.

I have known persons who sold comfortable homes, cheerful hearts, and good consciences, all for a little gold, which they ground into this silly powder, and threw away.

I think Pride makes people a little insane; you must take care that none of his gold dust gets into your eyes.

The good thing about Pride—and there is something good about every body—was his affection for Alfred's fairy, Ambition. I cannot describe this being, he is so dazzlingly bright. He is the best and the worst fairy I know, for he is at times like each one, and often like all together.

It is ambition that makes men good as angels; and every one knows it is Ambition that makes Satan so bad. This fairy is useful; but he cannot be trusted for a moment; he may serve you faithfully through a long life, and at the end plunge you into some pitfall, just for mischief. He will whisper sweet words in your ear, and build you a glittering boat, and promise to row you down the pleasantest river to Paradise itself. Perhaps he will do all he promises; perhaps he will only land you in a madhouse or a jail.

Ambition had taken a fancy to Alfred, and never left his side. He would urge him away from his companions and sports, to work over books,—always to work and study,—and promised to make him a great and useful man.

There is one strange thing about these fairy people; beautiful and rich as they are, and free and powerful, they will follow and make their home with the poorest little child, and shelter him with their splendid wings, and light up his pathway with their gleaming crowns; but only on one condition—that the child follow wherever they lead, and is true to the fairies as they are true to him; which is but fair, you know. Who wants to give advice that is not followed?

We all, though at the time we do not know it, choose our own fairies, and, once chosen, they love us and make us love them so well that it is no easy matter to escape from them, or to avoid obeying their advice.

So, when you see any one—and grown-up men and women have fairies as well as children—who is led about by a wicked fairy, you must pity instead of blaming the sufferer; and if he offend you, you must take care that his fairy doesn't fly into your heart and frighten away your own, or make you forget, and give unkind answers back.

Be very sure no one wants to be bad; only if a spiteful little spirit perched on your shoulder, and whispered evil thoughts and angry words into your ear, don't you suppose that sometimes you would obey him and believe what he said?

Whenever you feel these wicked spirits near, call loud for Violet's fairy, Love. She will be sure to come; and they know very well they cannot live in her presence; for the light of her starry crown puts out their eyes, and the incense from Contentment's urn will take away their breath.

If Love come, Content will be sure to follow; so only keep these fairies near, and you are safe.

CHAPTER X.

THE STRANGERS.

But we were talking about Violet and poor Toady, who lay on the ground all bruised and bleeding, one of his legs so broken that it dragged along after him when he tried to hop, and one of his eyes torn out and hanging by the skin; while the poor thing quivered all over with pain, and looked up at Violet with his one eye, as if he would say, "Do help me, Violet. Why didn't you keep them away?"

She lifted him into the grass, smoothing it first into something like a nest; then she poured some water from her violet cup to wash away the dust and blood, and stroked his back gently, while Toady looked up at her, and shut and opened his one eye, and tried to hop, which was his way of thanking her, you know.

When she found how stiff and sore he was, Violet burst into tears again, and wondered if the little queen in the carriage was any happier for doing all this mischief. Let us see.

Having taken care of her pet, the little girl looked to see if the carriage had gone; and though she was almost as blind as Toady, her eyes were so full of tears, she knew plainly enough by the sound that it was waiting still; for Alfred had thrown his book aside, and he and Narcissa were talking angrily.

"You're an ugly, envious thing," said Alfred. "That poor little girl had nothing on earth but those few flowers and a miserable toad; and you, who have every thing you want, could not rest till you had stolen these. If I were king, I'd send you to state's prison."

"And if you were a queen, what would you do to the girl in the carriage?" asked Narcissa's father of Violet; for the gentleman had returned from his walk, and coming quietly behind, had been watching her as she wept and watched over Toady, who seemed to be fast asleep.

"O, I would send her away to the end of the world, so I might never see her again. Do take her away," she pleaded.

"But she has done wrong; she had no more right to hurt your toad than you have to hurt my horses in the carriage there. Shall I not punish her?"

"It wouldn't do me any good," said Violet, mournfully. "Tell her she may have the flowers in welcome now. I don't care about them or any thing else if Toady must die."

"And why do you care about Toady?"

"About him?" asked Violet, shaking away the golden hair as she looked up wonderingly with her beautiful blue eyes,—"care about him? Why, did you ever see such a handsome toad? And then I have known him so long, and he hops about after me and lets me feed him; and now, now, when I come here in the morning, how lonesome I shall be, for he can't come