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 taught her her letters when he was called away. She could neither write nor spell, and saddest of all,—Sally did not care! This shows how little she knew about life, or what she needed most to fit her for the right kind of a life.

But the angels watch over good children, and Sally was soon to have her young eyes opened to things she did not see as yet. And after all, there is an old, old saying that "blood will tell," and we do not know much yet about the kind of blood that was running through Sally's veins.

Now all her heart was bent on hearing the rest of the Fairy story, and finding out what the happy child saw and did in Fairy Town. And soon as she had eaten her supper, tried to coax down her thick, rumply hair, and smooth her dress into some shape, off darted Sally for Ingleside, and taking care that no one should see her enter,—she was ever careful about that,—like a rabbit she plunged through a thin spot in the hedge, and was soon on her rocky seat well up by the wall.In a few minutes there was a sound of voices in the garden, and the rustle of soft gowns above her head. It was plain that Lionel Grandison, his sister Lucretia, and their cousin, Rosamond Earlscourt, had entered the arbor. A little light talk there was, then Lionel's rich, pleasant voice took up the Fairy tale:

"The days and the weeks flew by as if on wings of the wind, a soft, sweet wind! No pleasure was wanting in Fairy Town. There was no work, no worry, no rain, no cold, no great heat. The flowers gave food to the child the same as to the bees and the birds. She sipped the clover-like syrup of sweet-pea blossoms, tasted and liked the bitter-sweet of the pond-lily, loved the orris flavor of mignonette which she drank from the cup of the fairy-bell. She drew in the nectar of honeysuckle, and tasted the Paradise flavor of the rose. A syrup that seemed as if from the Garden of Eden was made from spicy pinks, white violets, and valley-lilies, mixed with morning dew.

"After feasting until she was tired there came four white doves, harnessed to a light, silvery carriage, made of snowball flowers. Light as air the child flew into the sweet, soft carriage, and was borne along above the flowers and bushes, but the doves did not fly too high, for fear of alarming the merry child.

"When the soft twilight of Fairy Town came gently down, there appeared a bed made of the feathers of the swan, so pure and white, the child feared to lie down upon it. But the Fairy playfully tossed her on the downy bed, then smiled to see how lovely it all appeared to the little one that nestled down, and was all ready for rest after the delights of Fairy Town.

"But the days passed on and on, and lo! who could believe it? The child grew tired,—tired of the sweetness, the rest, the dove-drives, the do-nothing, care-nothing ease of Fairy Town!

"At first she could not believe so strange a thing was possible, and feared lest she was only stupid and ungrateful. But, alas! the downy, flowery, too easy life became more and more tiresome until, in trouble and distress, she went to the Fairy with a look in her eyes that the wise Fairy understood. Yet she asked kindly:

"'What is it, dear?'

"'Ah, good Fairy, I fear that I am but a naughty, naughty child.'

"'Have you done wrong?' asked the Fairy.

"'No, I have meant to do nothing wrong, good Fairy.'

"'Then, why feel troubled, dear? No one need really worry who has done no wrong. Tell me, what aileth thee?'

"'I have grown tired, dear Fairy.'

"The Fairy smiled.

"'Just as I knew you would,' she said.

"'You knew I would?' The child's eyes opened wide in surprise.

"'Yes; and shall I tell you why?'

"'Please do.'

"The beautiful face of the Fairy glowed with love and wisdom, and tiny sparks of light seemed to shoot forth from all about her head as she replied:

"'My little one, my precious one, truth is that every one who comes into the world has some work to do, and happiness, and sweet content, can come only through doing it. In your home you had errands on which to run, and lessons to learn.

"'Ah! there is the great secret of what young people need, and must have, if ever they are going to be worth much in the world—lessons!

"'But you did not like being useful, and doing the errands, nor did you want to study and learn your lessons. And so you thought that you were troubled and tired—only a fancy it was, however. So I wafted you to Fairy Town, where all is quiet, downy, flowery, full of ease, luxury, and feasting.

"'But, because you have a mind to fill with useful, glorious knowledge, and a life to fill with good deeds, you could not live so really useless a round of nought but pleasure.

"'Go back to sweet duty, dear one, and remember that Fairy Town is not for a child of the great King of Heaven.'"Then the child awoke, and, lo! she thirsted for Fairy Town no longer."

Lionel's pleasant voice ceased. For a moment it was quiet in the arbor, then there was a rustling sound, and Rosamond Earlscourt's clear voice rang out with a scornful note:

"Oh, indeed! and, indeed! Then that is the reason it hath been told that this Fairy story is a good one for all to read, both old and young. Because it teacheth the need of learning, and of being useful in the world. I call it stupid!"

"I do not!" said Lionel; "how can one be fitted to live properly without a good degree of learning? And who would wish to live without being useful?"

"What mean you to do with all your wisdom?" laughingly asked his sister Lucretia.

Lionel had wandered from the summer-house, and stood on a broad stone near the edge of the wall. Sally could see him plainly, although there was little clanger of his seeing her. His head was held erect as he poised straight and strong, the look of a man in his face."I hope," he replied, "to make the best use of any knowledge I may gain that I possibly can. Every one should try to make the world better for having lived in it. And it is the learning that comes through study and books that one must have in order to rightly understand things. I bethink me our country is going to need men of the right kind before many years are past."

"The children of the poor cannot obtain the learning that comes through books," said Rosamond; "prithee, how much must it be with them?"

Lionel replied, stoutly:

"The lad or the maid who is determined to learn, and have the right place in the world, can find the way! The lad or the maid who pushes through everything that would hinder, and will get learning in spite of difficulties, is the one to succeed and to be admired! We all must push our way. I mean to push mine!"

He spoke fearlessly as there he stood, a fine lad in fine garments that had been brought from across the sea; his fair, clinging hair had been pushed back from his white forehead, for he would have none of the queue worn by many very young men in those days. His waistcoat was daintily ruffled down the front, and a fall of lace was about his hands. A broad ring, with a clear white stone, glittered on one finger. His knee-breeches were of the finest gray linen, with gray satin bows and silver buckles at the knee bands. He wore, also, long gray stockings, "clocked," or with wrought figures up the sides, and pumps of polished leather with silver buckles in the rosettes.

The son of a gentleman, standing in the even-light, the fire of the right kind of ambition, and a set purpose in voice and eye, the sunset glow bringing out form and features like unto those of a young lord; and—down in the hedge, a poor, tangled, ill-kept little maid, gazing upon him even as she would have gazed upon a Prince in a Fairy story.

"Oh, he is a Prince!" gasped Sally. "He is like a Fairy Prince. He is my Fairy Prince!"Then the poor child flushed and trembled. The idea of having dared to think of young Lionel Grandison, son of Sir Percival and Lady Gabrielle Grandison, as belonging in the leastest degree to her, made her tingle with a kind of awe.

"Nobody knows it but just me," thought Sally, "and I will have him for my Fairy Prince. I can, way down in my heart-place; oh, I must, and I will."

She was very quiet for a few moments after that.

Then, all at once, something woke up in Sally. Something that had never awakened before. It was a sudden thought and knowledge of what she was herself.

"Only just a know-nothing!" she whispered, "a poor little old know-nothing!" and she hung her head. "Can't read! Can't write! Can't spell! Can't anything but just scrub and dub. Oh, he wouldn't speak to me, he wouldn't look at me! How sick my heart feels, and how tired I am!"Then something else woke up in Sally. Something stirred in her heart for the first time. She tugged at her wretched little dress as she repeated:

"He said that the lad or the girl that was determined to get learning could find a way. Did you hear that, Sally Dukeen?"