In an old school-house in one of our rural villages, one beautiful summer’s day, a group of merry children were assembled. Some were hurrying with their lessons, while others were turning listlessly from their books to gaze with anxious faces upon the clock, which ticked loudly (and very slowly on this particular day) in the corner. An afternoon holiday had been promised, and an excursion to a not far distant wood, for the purpose of gathering berries. No wonder, then, all looked pleased and happy.

At length, the long-wished-for hour arrived. A waggon appeared at the door to convey the younger children and the basket to the entrance of the wood, and the elder scholars tripped gaily on—each one with a well-filled basket in hand to contribute to the repast “under the greenwood tree.” It was not long ere they reached the wood.

“Oh, how cool!” one exclaimed, as the breeze sighed through the trees and rustled the green leaves; “and how shady!” another cried, as she walked beneath the spreading branches.

Near the entrance of the wood, meandered a clear stream, and the soft, rich grass sloped gently to the bank, while the branches of an old elm tree fell partly on the water, and formed a fairy-like nook; and here the children stopped,—’twas the very spot for their feast, before they gathered their berries. The baskets were quickly opened, and the contents spread upon the mossy bank. But who was to do the honours of the table? Their choice quickly fell upon a beautiful girl, the daughter of the minister. Bessie Lee was indeed beautiful; her golden hair clustered round her face, and her eyes, of the colour of the noonday sky, shaded by their dark lashes, gave an unusually lovely expression to her countenance;

No wonder, then, she was loved by all—rich and poor, young and old. A wreath of wild flowers was twined by the happy subjects, and the lovely queen was crowned. And then they separated to gather the berries, going in different directions, but intending to meet by the spring ere they returned home.

Bessie hurried eagerly on towards the interior of the woods, but she went not alone; her cousin, Harry Morton, about her own age, accompanied her to help to fill her basket. Hand in hand they wandered, ever and anon stopping to gather the clustering berries, or the bright flowers, that grew in their path. They heard the voices of their companions, but soon the sound died away in the distance. Yet they pressed on, conversing gaily;—but the baskets were filled, and should they not return, asked Harry of his cousin. She looked up,—the sun was shedding his declining rays through the trees, and the woods were flooded with golden light.

“I did not know it was so late,” exclaimed Bessie: “we shall be missed, and our schoolmates will be waiting by the spring; we shall have to walk fast.”

They turned to retrace their steps and hastened on. “Surely,” said Henry, “this is not the way we came; the trees are closer together, and I do not see the big chestnut we said we would have for a landmark.” “Oh,” cried Bessie, “that is farther on; it was just where the two roads met;—we shall soon be there—don’t you think so?” The poor boy did not answer; he felt that they had lost their way, and he feared to tell his cousin, for timid as a fawn she had always been.

“Are you tired, Bessie?” He looked into her face; the flush of hope had disappeared, and her faltering steps could scarce support her. He placed his arm around her slender waist; “Lean upon me, cousin; you are fatigued.”

“Oh, Henry!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears; “we are lost; and my poor mother, how will she feel? We shall never see her again; we shall have to stay in this dark place all night—and the bears and lions—oh, what shall we do?”

“Do not cry, dear cousin; there are no wild animals here now; there is nothing to hurt us here. The woods in this part are free; and don’t you know what we read this morning,—there were no lions in this country?”

And so he tried to comfort her, and poor Bessie dried her eyes and tried to smile. “We are like the ‘Babes in the Wood,’ Harry; only I am afraid there are no pretty robins who will cover us up with leaves, and watch over us.”

The last rays of the sun faded away, and the golden-fringed clouds melted into blue. The full moon rose high in the heavens, and the bright stars shone calmly down on the lost ones. Exhausted, the cousins sank upon the grass, under an old tree, whose friendly branches stretched far and wide to shelter them.

“I can go no farther,” cried Bessie; “my head aches, and I feel so tired. Oh, if I could only see mother,—she will be so frightened. Do you think any one will come to find us?”

“Do not feel so bad,” said Henry; “nothing will hurt us. God will take care of us, and it will soon be morning, and then we can easily find our way out of the woods. Your father will send some one for us, or he may come himself, who knows?”

“Hark!” cried Bessie, springing to her feet; “did you not hear a noise? Something rustled in the grass; I am sure it was a snake.” She clung closer and closer to Harry, and it was with difficulty he could soothe her. He told her how groundless were her fears; that a protecting Providence watched over them, and they would not be harmed.

He wrapped her shawl closer around her, for the night air was chilly to her tender frame. “The soft grass shall be your bed, Bessie, and I will watch over you; but first let us say our evening prayer, just as if we were at home.” Together the cousins knelt down and offered their humble petition to the Most High, and then they lay down on their mossy bed to sleep,—Bessie, with her head pillowed on the breast of Harry; his arm supported her, and so they slept. Sweet visions of home haunted their dreams, and their parents’ loved faces smiled upon and blessed them.

It was morning; the sun was just rising, and a faint light was diffused through the trees, and the birds were carolling forth their matin songs. Bessie still slept—the innocent sleep of childhood. Henry lay in the same position, for he would not disturb her. For hours he had lain listening to every sound.

At length Bessie awoke; she looked around,—“Where am I?” were the first words that escaped her lips. She looked at Henry. “Oh! I remember now; we have been here all night. Do you think we shall get home to-day?”

“Oh, yes;” said her cousin, gaily. “I am so glad you have rested so well. We will soon set out, and perhaps we shall get home to breakfast. But eat some of the berries, Bessie, and then we will try to find our way out of the wood.”

She tasted the berries, but pushed them aside. “I cannot eat; I feel, Harry, if we do not soon get home, I shall never eat again.”

“Oh! do not grieve so, dear, dear Bessie. Look, the sun is shining brightly through the trees; so that is east, and you know the woods lie west of the school-house; so we will walk towards the sun, and then we will soon see dear home.” He placed his arm carefully around her, and they set out, her steps still faltering.

Mile after mile they thus walked, for they had wandered far the preceding night. At times the trees grew thinner, and they would congratulate themselves they were almost home; but then again they could hardly find their way through the overgrown path.

“I cannot go much farther, Harry; for my head throbs almost to bursting, and I am so dizzy, I can hardly see.” Bessie stopped and leaned for support against a tree; her hat fell back and revealed her face deadly pale. Poor Harry gazed upon her in despair. What if she should die there in the wood, away from all that loved her? The thought was agony,—the scalding tears started to his eyes. He took hold of her hand; “Bessie, speak to me; lean upon me—we will soon be home, only think so.”

At that instant, a plunge was heard in a neighbouring bush. Bessie, too, heard it; it recalled her fleeting senses. She looked up,—a beautiful dog came bounding towards her. She stretched out her arms; “’Tis Carlo; dear, dear Carlo!” The dog crouched at her feet. She stooped to embrace the animal—the tear-drops glistened in her eyes and fell warm upon the faithful creature. “Oh, Harry! he has come to save us; we shall see home once more.”

But she was too weak to walk, and how was he to bear her home? Delicately formed himself, and worn out with fatigue and watching nearly the whole night, he could scarce bear his own weight. Carlo bounded gaily on, inviting them to follow. A voice was heard in the distance, calling on their names,—“Bessie! Harry!” He tried to answer, but his voice was low and feeble. “Bessie, let me help you; I hear voices; let us try to meet them; I will support you.” He raised her from the ground and tried to bear her on. The voices approached nearer and nearer; again he essayed to answer,—this time he was heard. They saw some one coming rapidly towards them, and recognised Bessie’s father. He hurried on, and received the almost insensible form of his child in his arms. He was accompanied by some of his neighbours, who supported Harry home. Scarce half an hour elapsed, ere Bessie was laid in her mother’s arms. Carlo, half maddened with joy, frisked and gambolled round them. In vain poor Bessie tried to tell her story, but tears and sobs choked her voice.

They had wandered very far into the woods. On the return of their schoolmates without them, the anxious father, accompanied by some kind neighbours, had spent the night in search of them; but had been unable to trace them, and returned wearied and alone. Another party had immediately formed, and the bereaved father had insisted on again accompanying them. Carlo, Bessie’s little favourite, had followed, and it was the instinct of the faithful animal that led the father to his children. And now they were safe in their own loved home; and many a fervent prayer of thanksgiving for the recovery of the lost ones ascended that night to heaven, from the humble dwelling of Pastor Lee.

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