"M"MAMMA, mamma, mamma!" cried Maggie and Bessie, dancing into the room with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks.

"What is it, Sunbeams?" asked mamma.

"Oh! a blackberry party, mamma,—such a splendid blackberry party!—and we are all to go if you will let us. John is going to take us; and Dolly and Fanny are going, and Jane, too, if you would like to have her. Can we go, can we? Oh, say yes, mamma!"

"And please don't say I am too little, mamma," said Bessie. "John will take very good care of me, and carry me over all the hard places. And if we pick more berries than we want to eat for tea, Mrs. Porter is going to make them into blackberry jam for us to take home with us. So you see it will be very useful, as well as very pleasant, for us to go."

"Very well," said mamma, "that being the case, I think I must let you go."

Half an hour later the party started, armed with baskets and tin pails. Away they went, laughing and singing, by the lake road, and then down the side of the mountain to a spot where John said the blackberry bushes grew very thick. The way was pretty rough, and not only Bessie, but Maggie also, was glad of John's help now and then. Indeed, Bessie rode upon his shoulder for a great part of the way.

The blackberries were "thick as hops" when they came upon them,—some still green, some red or half ripe, others as black as ink; and these the children knew were what they must pick. The fingers of large and small were soon at work, but Maggie and Bessie did not find it quite as great fun as they expected.

"Ou, ou!" exclaimed Maggie, as she plunged her hand into the first bush. "Why, there are horrid prickers on it!"

"And on mine too," cried Bessie. "They stick me like every thing. Oh, my finger is bleeding!"

"To be sure," said Fanny; "you must be careful: blackberry bushes are full of thorns."

Maggie and Bessie had not bargained for the thorns, and felt somehow as if they had been rather imposed upon; but they picked away more carefully. Now and then a berry found its way into a small mouth instead of into the pails, and very ripe and juicy it tasted.

By and by Bessie gave a little sigh and said,—

"Maggie, do you think it is so very nice?"

"I'm trying to think it is," said Maggie; "but they do scratch awfully, don't they? and the sun is pretty hot too. How many have you, Bessie?"

"I guess about five hundred,—maybe it's a thousand," said Bessie. "Can you count them?"

"Let's sit down there in the shade and do it," said Maggie. "One, two, three, four,—there's seventeen, Bessie. That's a pretty good many."

"Is it 'most a thousand, Maggie?"

"No," said Maggie, "I'm afraid it will take about fifty more to make a thousand. Here's Bob; we'll ask him," as Bob and Hafed came by with their baskets. "Bob, Bessie has seventeen berries; how many more will it take to make a thousand?"

"Seventeen from a thousand," said Bob, "why it will take—nine hundred—and—and—eighty-three. You haven't the beginning of a thousand there yet."

"Have I enough to make a pot of jam?" asked Bessie, wistfully, looking into her pail. "Your mother said she would make me a pot of my own if I brought enough berries."

"A small pot it would be," said Bob, laughing. "Take two to show the pattern, I guess," and he ran off.

Hafed lingered behind. He understood enough to know that Bessie was disturbed because she had so few berries; and suddenly emptying his basket, which was about a third full, into her pail, he said,—

"Me blackberry pick Missy Bess, all give."

"Oh! no, Hafed," said Bessie. "I thank you very much, but it wouldn't be fair to take your berries."

"Please, missy, make Hafed feel good," he answered, holding his basket behind him when Bessie would have poured the berries back. "Me much find; bring, too, some Missy Mag—" by which he meant he would bring some more to Maggie,—and he went after Bob.

"Oh! you're tired, are you?" said Jane, turning around to look what her young charges were doing, and seeing them on the rock. "Maybe you'd like a little lunch too; and here's some biscuits, and a couple of cookies your mother told me to bring lest you should be hungry. Then you can eat some of your berries; or, stay, I'll give you some of mine so you may keep all your own."

So the kind nurse opened the paper containing the biscuits, and spread it on the flat stone on which the children sat; next she pulled two broad mullein leaves, and put a handful of berries on each, and then having produced the drinking cup she always carried when the children went on an expedition, she asked John where she should find a stream, and one being near at hand as usual, the cup was soon filled and placed beside the other things.

"There," said Jane, "I don't believe Queen Victoria herself had a better set-out when she went blackberrying."

The children thought not; and the rest and unexpected little lunch made them both feel refreshed and bright again.

"Bessie," said Maggie, as they sat contentedly eating it, "do you not think foreigner boys are a great deal nicer than home-made boys?"

"What does foreigner mean?" asked Bessie.

"It means to come out of another country. Hafed is a foreigner, and that little French boy who was so polite to us on board the steamboat was a foreigner, and so is Carl."

Carl was Uncle Ruthven's Swedish servant.

"Are not Harry and Fred home-made boys, Maggie?"

"Yes; but, of course, I don't mean them: they're our brothers; but, of example, don't you think Hafed is a great deal nicer and politer than Bob?"

"Oh, yes! Bob laughed at me 'cause I had only a few berries; and Hafed did not laugh a bit, but gave me his."

"Midget and Bess," came in Fred's clear tones from a little distance, "come over here; here are lots of berries, lying on top of one another almost, ripe and sweet; and calling out, 'Come pick me!' They hang low, so we'll leave them for you, and it's nice and shady too."

"Fred is a nice home-made boy; is he not?" said Bessie, as they obeyed his call.

"Yes, and Harry too," said Maggie. "I did not mean to pass any remarks of them."

There were indeed lots of blackberries in the spot to which Fred had called them; and, screened from the rays of the sun, they picked them with comfort; besides which, many a large berry which they did not pick themselves found its way into their pails; so that, by the time Hafed came with his offering to Maggie, her own berries made quite a show, and she steadily refused to take his.

Then John said they must be moving homeward. They went by a different road from that by which they had come, stopping every now and then, where the berries were fine and thick, to add a few more to their store.

Seeing some which they thought particularly fine, the rest of the party climbed a steep rocky path to get them; while Maggie and Bessie, being tired, sat down to rest upon a fallen trunk. Suddenly a rustling beside them startled them; and, looking round, they saw a large pair of bright, soft eyes, gazing at them. A pair of ears were there also, a black nose too; in short, the whole of some animal's pretty head; and, before the little girls had time to call out or run away, a beautiful little fawn sprang out from the bushes and ran to them as if he was glad to see them. It had a red collar about its neck with some letters on it; but the children had no need to look at them: they knew the pretty creature quite well. It belonged to the little cousins down at the homestead, and was a great pet, and now it came rubbing its head against them, and putting its hoof into their laps, as if it were very glad to see some familiar faces. It must have wandered from home, the children knew; and so John said, when he came a moment later.

"I shall have to take the poor creature back," he said. "It would never do to take it up home, for Buffer would tear it to pieces; and, besides, they'll be worrying about it down there; so I'd better go at once. You can find your way home from here, Fan; take that right-hand path, and it will bring you out just below Owen's shanty."

The fawn seemed quite unwilling to leave the children; indeed it would not go at all, till John tied a string to its collar, and drew it after him. As it was found out afterwards, it had been lost since the day before; and the homestead children were in great distress, and had hunted for it in vain.

The path pointed out by John brought them, as he said it would, very near Owen's hut, and, looking towards it, they saw Mr. Stanton and his wife and Mrs. Bradford standing in front of it.

While Mr. Bradford had gone to the village to send the doctor, and try to find a nurse for Dolly, the two ladies had come with Mr. Stanton to see the sick child.

She was quieter than she had been through the night, but was, if any thing, more ill. She moaned incessantly, and Lem said, was all the time begging for something, he could not make out what.

Mrs. Stanton laid her soft, cool hand on the girl's burning forehead. Dolly seemed to like the touch, and looking up into the lady's face, said something in a beseeching tone.

"Do you want any thing, Dolly?" asked Mrs. Stanton, bending lower.

"I want," muttered Dolly; "I want to—to be angel."

"Poor Dolly," said the lady in a gentle, pitying tone.

"What is it she wants?" asked Lem.

"She says she wants to be an angel."

"Want to be an angel," moaned Dolly again. "Somebody loves the angels—up in His place—not tired there—rest for the weary; that's tired folks—that's me. I'm so tired—want to be an angel."

"Dolly," said Mrs. Stanton, not knowing if the girl could understand her, yet hoping that she might even now speak a word in season, "Dolly, you may be an angel some day if you will come to Jesus. He wants you to come and love Him. He wants you to be a good girl so that He may take you to His heaven, where there will be no more pain or sorrow, where you will never be tired, where you will be an angel. Will you love Him, Dolly; will you be a good girl, and try to please Him?"

"Don't love me," said Dolly, who, with her eyes fixed on the lady's face, had grown quiet, and really seemed to understand what she was saying; "loves little gals, maybe, what sings: they has nice frocks, and I aint fit for His beautiful place."

"Jesus will make you clean and white, and fit for His heaven, if you ask Him, Dolly. He does love you. He is waiting for you to come to Him."

"Little gals said He loved me; but can't ask Him, He don't come here."

"Yes, He does, Dolly. He is here now. You cannot see Him; but He sees you, and is sorry for you. Shall we ask Him to make you fit for heaven?"

"Yes," said Dolly.

"Dear Jesus," said the lady, "we ask Thee to give this little girl a new, clean heart, and to make her fit to live with Thee"—

"To be an angel," put in Dolly, eagerly.

"Make her fit to be an angel, make her love to please Thee, and, when it is time, take her to the home where there shall be no more pain or trouble. Amen."

"No more pain—no more trouble," murmured Dolly, her mind wandering again; "want to be an angel—I'll give her the cup," she cried; "they say it kills folks to be too long in the Ice Glen, but I can't get out; they'll send Lem to jail, will they? I'll fix 'em with their fine gardens—want to—rest for the weary."

Then her eyes closed, but presently opened again; and, looking from one to another of the kind faces above her, she said,—

"I say, did He see me give up the cup?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Stanton. "He sees all we do."

"And did He like me a little 'cause I did it?"

"Jesus was glad when He saw you give up the cup, Dolly, because it was not yours, and it was right for you to tell where it was. He is always glad when we do right, or when we are sorry for doing wrong."

"Can I speak to Him?"

"Yes: He is always ready and willing to listen to you, my poor child."

"Guess I'll tell Him," muttered Dolly; and, trying to put her hands together as she had seen Mrs. Stanton do, she said, "Jesus, I'm true sorry I sp'iled them gardens, and I want to be a angel, if you could please to let me."

It was the first prayer that ever passed Dolly's lips; she did not even know it was a prayer; she only knew she was speaking to Jesus, the great friend of whom little Bessie and this kind lady had told her.

Then the poor child turned her face around and fell into one of her short, troubled slumbers; while Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and Mrs. Bradford went outside, followed by Lem.

The two ladies and the gentleman sat down upon the rocks, while Lem took his place in front of them, hugging up his knees, and staring from one to another with half-frightened, half-sorrowful, looks. They were all silent for a little time, then Lem suddenly said,—

"Mister, when folks goes to be angels they mostly dies, don't they?"

"Always, Lem," said Mr. Stanton, gently. "Angels are happy spirits whom God has taken from all the pain and trouble of this world to live with Him in that happy home where sorrow and death never come."

"Is Doll going to die?" asked the boy.

"I cannot tell: that will be as God sees best. Dolly is very sick; but we will do for her all we can, and we will ask Him to make her His own little child, so that if she dies she may be fit to live with Him, and if she lives, she may be ready to serve Him and love Him on earth."

"I'll tell you, mister," broke forth Lem, after another moment or two of silence, "I was awful sorry when I heard what Doll did to them gardens after the little gals begged me out; but you see she didn't know it, and she thought I was took to jail. I guess she's sorry too. Wasn't you awful mad about it?"

"I did feel pretty angry, Lem; but we won't talk any more about that. I do not think either you or Dolly will trouble our little girls again; will you?"

"I shan't," said Lem, "and if Doll gets well and does, I'll fix her: that's all."

Lem scarcely spoke without using some very bad word, such as is not best for me to write or you to read; and Mr. Stanton was waiting his time to speak to him about this. It came now.

"But maybe she'll die," continued Lem. "Anyhow, you and your folks has been real good to me and Doll: what for I don't know, for we did plague you awful. I don't s'pose I'll ever get the chance to do you a good turn; but, if I do, you see if I don't."

"Lem," said Mr. Stanton, "you might do me a good turn now if you choose."

"Can I, though?" said Lem; "well, I will fast enough; for you're a fustrate fellow, and you tell fustrate tiger and bear stories. S'pose you don't know another, do you?"

"Plenty more," said Mr. Stanton; "what I want you to do for me, is not to use bad words."

"Never had no schoolin'," said Lem, a little sulkily.

"Schooling will not help you in the way I mean," said Mr. Stanton; and then he explained to Lem what kind of words he did mean, telling him how wicked and useless they were, and how it distressed those who loved God to hear His holy name taken in vain. Lem said he would do so no more; but the habit was so strong upon him, that, even as he promised, he used more than one profane word to make the promise strong.

But now a cry from Dolly told that she was awake and suffering, and the two ladies went in, and found her quite wild again.

"I want to be a angel," she said; "there's no pain, no tired, there—where's the singin'—I like it," and so she wandered on, calling upon the little girls and begging them to sing. In vain did Mrs. Bradford and Mrs. Stanton sing for her the two hymns which had taken her fancy, she only looked about more wildly for Maggie and Bessie, crying that she wanted "little one and t'other one," to sing for her. She grew worse and worse, till at last even the presence of the two ladies seemed to make her more wild; and they went out, leaving Lem to do the best he could with her. Mrs. Bradford was just saying she did not know what to do, since the children were from home, when the blackberry party appeared at the turn in the wood-path.

"Here are the children, heaven-sent, I believe," said their mother, and she beckoned to her little girls.

They came running towards her, eager to show their berries, and to ask for news of Dolly. Mamma told them how ill she was, calling for them; and asked if they would go and sing for her.

Bessie said yes, at once; but timid Maggie looked half doubtfully at the dark, ugly, little house, and had a short struggle with herself before she could make up her mind to venture in. And after they were inside, she held Bessie tightly by the hand, and for a moment or two could scarcely find voice to sing.

Dolly's wild eyes turned towards them, and softened a little with pleasure at the sight; and her loud, hoarse cries ceased. It was evident she knew them.

"Sing, 'I want to be an angel,' my darlings," said mamma.

It was strange to see how the sweet sounds now soothed the sick child, though they had failed when tried by Mrs. Bradford and Mrs. Stanton. A love for music was, beside her affection for Lem, the one soft spot in poor Dolly's sinful, hardened heart; but the practised voices of the two ladies had not half the charm for her of the simple, childish tones which had first sung to her the hymn which had taken such hold upon her fancy, or rather on her heart. They sang it again and again, varying from that only to "Rest for the weary," for no other hymns seemed to satisfy the sick girl. She grew calm and quiet, and at last even appeared to forget her pain as she lay listening.

Once, when they paused, she beckoned to Bessie, and said, "Do you sometimes speak to Him?"

"To whom?" asked Bessie.

"To Him what has the angels, and is glad if we're good,—Jesus."

"Oh, yes!" said Bessie; "we speak to Him very often: when we say our prayers, that is speaking to Jesus; and He always listens too."

"Then you speak to Him for me, will you? You knows Him better than I do: I don't know Him much, only what you and the lady telled me, and what the song says."

"What shall we tell Him?" asked Bessie.

"Tell Him I'm so tired this long while, and the pain aches so, and if He could just let me be a angel, I'd never do so no more; and I'm sorry I plagued you, and I'll do just what He bids me. I'm sorry I broke Miss Porter's plate too."

"Yes, we'll tell Him," said Bessie gently; "but, Dolly, Jesus would like you to tell Him yourself too."

"I done it, and I'll do it some more," said Dolly, feebly; "make some more singin'."

Maggie and Bessie sang again, and before long poor Dolly's eyes closed, and she lay quietly sleeping; while our little girls, having left some of their berries for Lem to give her when she woke, went home with their mother and other friends.