abundance. Bedsteads, with high posts and "testers," or canopies overhead. Furniture, covered with chintz, looked fresh and fine, while bedspreads, valances, or side-flounces for the beds, tester, curtains, dressing-table, and mirror, all were made, bordered, or trimmed, with brightly flowered chintz.

The spare room, or "parlor-chamber," was delightfully cool and pure looking, decked out in white dimity, stiff with starch, and full of an air of grandeur.

The cook-room of the house was at the rear of the mansion, apart from it, and the different dishes were carried through a covered passage. Afar down the grounds were the stables, back of them the quarters of the black servants, and still beyond, the wide plantation or tobacco fields.

At one side of the garden, midst lawn and shrubbery, was a stone wall bounding one part of the grounds, and close to this wall was a little summer-house, or arbor, where the young people liked to stray of an evening, and enjoy the cool, sweet breezes of the fair Southland.

Just outside this high, bordering wall, was a thick hedge nearly as high as the wall itself, and with but the merest space between. And here it was, between wall and hedge, that Sally, poor, half-neglected little Maid Sally, was wild to cut over from Slipside Row and hide herself.

Because, ah! because she had found out that young Lionel Grandison, son of Sir Percival and Lady Gabrielle Grandison, was in the habit of roving over to the arbor after supper with his books, and supposing himself alone, would often read aloud.

But now, his cousin, the Lady Rosamond Earlscourt, was spending the summer at Ingleside, and Lionel, sixteen, tall, straight, and manly in his boyish beauty, was reading aloud evenings to his fair cousin Rosamond and his sister, Lucretia Grandison, a Fairy story.

He had read later than usual the night before, and, ah! it was almost as if a Fairy had lifted her lightsome wand and granted some great boon when Mistress Cory Ann said to Sally that after supper she could go where she liked, and work would be over for the day.

That would give her time in which to do a bit of prinking, even such as pulling out her tangled locks and putting her poor little dress as straight as she could, then to run over to Ingleside at about the time that supper would be over there, and Lionel would begin his delightful reading.

No wonder Sally squeezed her own spare little sides with delight, as she realized that now unless it rained she could fly night after night to her enchanted grounds, and hear the clear voice of young Lionel Grandison reading the beautiful Fairy tale.

Yes, it was of a truth like a piece of Fairy luck that had come into the child's lonely life.

CHAPTER III.
THE END OF FAIRY TOWN

Sally had not heard the first part of the Fairy story, but what she had heard was remembered, every word.

And enough it was for her to know that some poor little child had been charmed to rest in a Fairy's arms, and had wandered, in sweet dreams, off to Fairy Town.

She went next day about her work scarcely thinking of what her hands were doing, and so full were her thoughts of the lovely flowers and meadows of Fairy Town that she had paid no attention when Mammy Leezer stood talking with Mistress Brace.

Even Mammy Leezer usually looked to her like a favored person, and a little of the glamor, or charm, that was about everybody and everything belonging to Ingleside, was about Mammy Leezer, too. Several times the old woman had spoken to her, and Sally liked well the "sugary" sound of her voice, as she called it in her own mind.

But to-day so full was her mind of the Fairy book that she scrubbed away at the steps never caring what was being said just beyond her, so she did not know that it was what Mammy Leezer had said that made Mistress Cory Ann give her the whole long twilight and even-song to herself.

It made no difference. Enough for her that, supper ended, off she could fly, and in her own particular cubby between hedge and wall could hear more of the beloved story.

A very fortunate thing for Sally had happened a short time before this, although it might be that no one remembered it. Two or three great stones had loosened at the top of the wall near the arbor, and after repairing, the workmen had left a couple of large stones, one on top of the other, between the hedge and the wall.

This formed a grand seat for Sally, as after perching on the upper stone her head was only a little below the wall, and distinctly she could hear what was said in the arbor. But she must needs push her way through the hedge at quite a little distance beyond the seat, where the stiff branches were thinner, as at that particular spot they were of a thickness to sadly tear her clothes and dreadfully scratch her skin should she try to get through.

But the little girl knew exactly where to worm her thin little body past the hedge, take a twist or two, and there she was, all the more completely hidden that the screen was so thick near her seat. It never occurred to her that perhaps she ought not to listen. Too untaught a child was Sally to know that, and, oh! the delight and comfort of it all!

It has been said that Sally was imaginative, and a great thing it was for her, too. Because, don't you see, no matter how hard she might be working, she could fancy, or imagine herself, floating off to Dreamland in a Fairy's arms, even like the child in the story. Or, in her poor little attic room, she could imagine herself dressing up before a great, grand mirror, and getting ready for a party at Ingleside.

Now, it has also been said that Sally was not pretty to look at, but here is the truth of the matter: Sally had dull red hair, and a great deal of it. It was the kind of red that turned to ruddy gold when the sun shone on it. Her features were fine, straight, and what are called "well cut." Her eyes were a dark reddish brown, growing darker when she was troubled or excited, hazel eyes, getting darker with every year of her life. Then, strangely enough, both eyebrows and eyelashes were almost black, and the lashes long and curling.

But what child, pray, ever looked pretty, no matter how fine her features, who was only half clean, wore poor, ill-fitting, unbecoming clothes, and whose matted hair might indeed have been a disordered wig merely thrown on to her head?

Sally's teeth had "come in" very evenly, and had she not been brown as a little Indian from being out bareheaded in nearly all weathers, her skin would have been white and rosy red.

So, see you can, that although the child looked plain, and even homely, she yet had "points," as we say, of great beauty. And then, although Sally did not look like a brilliant child, she yet was "bright as a dollar." That must mean a new silver dollar, which you know is very bright and sparkles in the light. Just as maid Sally would have brightened and sparkled had she been in the light of a good home, with kind parents to teach her as a child needs to be taught.

Oh, but not a word has yet been said about her heart, her dear, childish heart. Very well; it was a kind, warm, want-to-do-right kind of heart. And this it was that made the people of Slipside Row like poor little Sally; it was the good heart beating under her shabby little gown.

It was a very sad thing that Sally could read only the smallest words, for her father had but