THE COWHERD.

Herbert felt inclined to quarrel with Charles for his reproof, but Charles had spied a little boy sitting on a gate herding a cow, and he ran over to him to make inquiries who the donkey belonged to.

"Well, sir, the poor beast belongs to some travelling gipsies who are living t'other side of the common, and they left it here this morning because it couldn't go no further, and there it has stood before that 'ere thistle ever since."

Caroline now came up, and hearing that the donkey was ill beyond a doubt, she proposed they should go home and ask their mamma to send the stable lad with a hot drink to the poor animal. "I know when our pony was ill one day he got a hot drink and some medicine, and he very soon was all right again."

"I'm not going back, for one," said Herbert; "the idea of making such a fuss about a donkey; it's quite ridiculous!"

"Nobody is forcing you, my dear cousin," replied Charles cheerily; "you may go on to the river by yourself; but I for one couldn't enjoy myself, unless I had done something to help this poor animal in its distress."

"Well, I don't see why we all should stay because you choose to doctor an old donkey," said Herbert peevishly. "Come along, Lizzie and Carry; if you don't come at once we'll lose the best part of the day, and get no fish."

The girls, however, were quite as anxious about the welfare of the poor donkey, and declared their intention to stay with Charlie. They even did more, for they volunteered to go back to the house to get what was necessary for the animal, while Charlie and the herd-boy watched by him, ready to render any assistance if he should turn worse.

Caroline was fortunate in finding Stephens the gardener, who was considered very skilful in doctoring sick animals; at anyrate, he had set the leg of one of her chickens when it was broken, and managed to bring Neptune through a severe illness, therefore it was to be supposed he could cure the donkey also.

"Well, miss, I'll come and see him," said Stephens; "but if he is as bad as you say, I fear it's little I can do." To their great delight, however, when Stephens had examined him, he gave it as his decided opinion that the animal was suffering from a severe cold and over-work. "If we had him put into a warm house for a night, and gave him something warm to eat, I think he would soon be all right," said Stephens. "I might manage to make him up a bed in the root-house, if your mamma would have no objections."

THE GIPSY ENCAMPMENT.

Caroline and Lizzie ran back to the house again, and after telling the story, Mrs. Ashcroft gave permission that all attention should be paid to the sick animal; and while Charles and the herd-boy went over to the gipsy encampment to tell where their donkey had disappeared to, Caroline and Lizzie helped Stephens to make the donkey comfortable. Even in the short time they were beside him the poor animal seemed to be much relieved; and though at first he could scarcely open his mouth to eat the warm, soft mash Stephens had prepared for him, before they left he was beginning to nibble at a tuft of hay that had been placed for his use.

"Oh, I do wish Herbert had stayed to help us," said Caroline; "I really cannot understand why he doesn't take an interest in dumb animals. I wonder why he is so different from Charles. Your brother is seldom cross with you, not even when you are cross with him."

"No," said Lizzie; "he is really a good kind boy; but I know somebody, not very far off, who is just as good and gentle as my brother Charles,—and that is yourself, you patient little puss."

"Oh, don't say that, Lizzie dear," said Caroline, with flushed cheeks. "I'm often hasty and ill-tempered, and make Herbert worse than he might be if I left him alone."

"Well," replied Lizzie, "all I can say is, if Herbert were my brother, I should be twice as hasty and five times as ill-tempered, for he is about the most provoking boy I know."

Charles returned in due time from the gipsy encampment, quite delighted with all he had seen of the people, and reported they had given up their donkey for lost; and, of course, they had been much gratified to hear it was likely to be restored to health and strength.

"I made them promise to leave the poor animal with us for a week," said Charlie; "and they say that they are quite willing, and mean to go on to the market-town, and return again for him."

"Oh, I was hoping they would remain in the wood for some time," said Lizzie. "I should like to see a gipsy encampment so much."

"And so should I," said Carry. "Nurse is always so frightened for the gipsies, she won't allow us ever to go near them. But, perhaps, when we take the donkey back they will be civil, and not steal our clothes from us."

"Does nurse say they will do that?" said Charlie. "Oh, what a shame! I wouldn't believe it. They were so polite to me; and one old woman insisted upon telling me my fortune, and when I offered her a sixpence she wouldn't have it."

"And I suppose she told you some rubbish," said Herbert; "sent you riding off in a coach-and-four with your pockets full of money and your barrels full of beer?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Charlie, "she wasn't half so kind. She said I would grow up to be more than six feet high; that I would be a soldier or a sailor, which I don't intend to be; and that, after a great many difficulties, I would succeed in the world, and mumbled something about a clear opening and a straight uprising."

"That's because you didn't give her any money," said Herbert, laughing.

"Well, when they come back we'll have her to tell us ours," said Lizzie, "and see if the coach-and-four is to fall to our lot."

"But I don't think mamma would like us to have our fortunes told. I know she was very much displeased with one of the servants allowing the gipsy woman to tell her hers. If we want to see the encampment, we had better not have anything to do with the fortune-teller. Mamma says it is not only silly but wicked to inquire into futurity."

In about a week the gipsies returned; and the donkey being much better, he was taken over and restored to his rightful owners. He was so much improved with his rest and good treatment that they hardly knew him, and the whole of the gipsy children belonging to the encampment gathered round to see their old friend and companion. When the children from the Hall left, after inspecting the queer tents and everything else, they turned to look once more at the donkey and wave a good-bye to the gipsy man; and, as Carry said, poor Punch—that was the name of the donkey—was looking wistfully after them, and if the man hadn't held him firm, he seemed almost inclined to run after them. "Poor beast," as Charlie said, "after all his hard years of labour it was no wonder if he wanted a rest now."

PUNCH AND HIS OWNERS.

The morning after Lizzie and Charles left, Caroline was unable to get out of bed with a sick headache, but was able to be down to dinner, where she found Herbert with rather a grave face, which did not escape the notice of his