"I have decided not to go upon this journey, Laura," were the first words the Motherkin spoke after she had given her a morning embrace, as the child came briskly in haste to receive it, and hear the plans which she supposed Grim and the Motherkin had made after she had gone to bed the night previous.

"Oh, dear Motherkin," exclaimed Laura, "how can you forget those poor little suffering creatures! My heart has ached for them even in my dreams. All night I have been climbing rocks and wading brooks to get to them, and now you tell me I cannot go. Oh, it is too, too hard!"

"Gently, gently, Lady Laura. I have not said you could not go."

"Well, what do you mean, dear Motherkin? Is Grim to go?"

"No, Grim cannot go either," said the Motherkin, with a peculiar little smile upon her face; and Grim twisted the scarlet tassel of his cap mysteriously. Laura looked at one, then at the other: what did it mean?

"Are you sure you wish to befriend those children, Laura?" asked the old lady.

Still more surprised, and not a little indignant, Laura answered, quickly, "Indeed I do; I long to aid them."

"And you are willing to make some sacrifice, some unusual effort, to do this?"

"Yes," again answered Laura, very quickly.

"Then, my child, you must go alone to their relief."

Laura's eyes opened very wide at this.

"How can I? I do not know the way."

"We will guide you, if you have resolution enough to undertake it."

Perplexed, Laura knew not what to say. How could she go alone? All sorts of dangers rose before her—great gloomy forests to traverse, wild beasts to meet, perhaps. She stood irresolute, her hand on the Motherkin's shoulder.

The old lady took her hand in hers as she said, "I do not compel it, Laura."

"But the poor little children—how can I be of service to them? I do not know how."

"I will instruct you; I will aid you. All I ask is for you to go alone: will you, or will you not?"

A vision of the little lonely hut and the suffering child and the ministering sister rose before Laura.

"I will go," she said, no longer irresolute.

"The blessing of the poor be upon you!" said Grim, and the Motherkin kissed her brow.

"Now, my child, have a good breakfast, and then I will tell you what you are to do."

Laura obeyed very willingly, no longer disdaining good substantial food or the simple manner of its preparation. After breakfast the Motherkin opened her closets and chose a few garments for the poor children. These, with a small flask of wine and some oat-cakes, were packed in a basket which had leather straps attached to go over Laura's shoulder. Then she was arrayed in a flannel costume that her kind mother had sent with all her fineries. It was blue, with delicate traceries of silver, silver buttons, and a silver belt, from which depended a pocket, a fruit-knife, and a little drinking-cup. In the pocket the Motherkin placed a few coins, and then assured Laura that there was but one thing needed.

"And what is that, dear Motherkin?" asked Laura.

"I will show you," was the reply.

"Grim! Grim!" called the Motherkin to the dwarf, who was sunning himself out-of-doors.

"Yes, madam," said Grim, hurriedly stirring himself.

"Do you think you can cut me a good stout staff for Lady Laura, without any injury to your lame ankle?"

"Of course, madam, of course. What wood shall it be?"

"Of wood that shall serve her well—you know their qualities even better than I; and whether it be ash or birch, you can get the elves to charm it, that it may have the power to guide her aright."

Grim hobbled off in haste, and was soon seen emerging from the forest with the charmed staff in his hand. It was a light, pretty stick, and the Motherkin bade Laura be very careful not to lose it, as it could not be replaced by any ordinary wood.

"And now, my child, you are ready. I will conduct you to the path on which you set forth. You are to follow it all day, wherever it may lead; at night you are to sleep beneath the canopy of heaven; but have no fears: we guard you. In the morning place your staff in your hand, penetrate the forest by which you will be surrounded, and the staff will guide you to the bed of a mountain stream; follow it patiently until the rocks become precipitous, then climb the bank towards which your staff will incline; this will bring you to the summit of the hills, in one of the valleys of which dwell the children you seek. Constantly allow yourself to be guided by your staff; it will very gently but very surely determine your path. Let no song of birds or murmur of bees, no fragrance of flowers nor music of brooks, detain you; do not linger. Hasten on, and you shall be guided going and coming."

"And the children—what am I to do for them?" asked Laura.

"Give them the clothes, food, and wine, and such assistance as your heart may suggest."

"But am I to leave them alone to suffer again when that which I carry to them is gone?"

"No; you are to do all in your power for the present, and leave the future to me."

"Ah, how I wish I could take them to my home in the castle, and share all my comforts and pleasures with them! I would teach them, and they should teach me, and we should be so happy together. Ah, please, dear Motherkin, let me; urge my mamma, beg her to let me take the little orphans home."

"Patience, dear child," said the Motherkin, pleased at Laura's kind wish.

"Yes, patience," reiterated Grim, twirling his tassel, and looking the picture of delight.

"She does you credit, dear lady," said Grim, as Laura, after embracing the Motherkin, and pressing both Grim's hands in her own, started out with her staff in hand.

"Yes," said the old lady, "I am well pleased."

They watched the child's retreating form, as she turned from time to time and threw kisses to them, till at last the glittering figure of silver and blue was merged in the green of the forest foliage.