But she had not been dancing and singing (Bab often recalled the scene, when she was older, with pleasure) more than about twenty minutes before Aunt Anastasia put her head out of the window, and told her to come in.

It was _much_ pleasanter to be dancing for the fairies up and down, with outstretched frock, than to go into the house and find Blackame still on the page, and have to confess she brought him there, and be in disgrace for it.

Mr. Beresford held out a kind hand to her, and drew her to his side.

The book, when Mr. Beresford took it in his hands, naturally opened at the page where it had been lying open that morning so long, and there were all the fairies and b.u.t.terflies lying flat and beautiful, and the verses in the middle of the page. But there, instead of Blackame, were five or six Blackames perhaps, intertwining together like the fairies and the b.u.t.terflies, but bearing to mortal eyes nothing but the appearance of a thick smudge of ink.

"Oh, I didn't do that!" cried poor little Bab, and burst into tears.

"Who did, then?" inquired Mr. Beresford, quickly.

"Why, I saw Robert with the book in the hall soon after we came home,"

cried Selina, on impulse.

"Did you do it, Robert?" asked Mr. Beresford.

"Why does she say she didn't do it, and begin to blubber?" cried Robert, politely designating Bab over his shoulder. "Wasn't she left at home?

Who could do it but she?"

"Because I _saw_ you do it," replied Mr. Beresford, and Robert's white face became scarlet--the mean little fellow as he stood there before them, who had committed a fault, and then tried to lay the blame on a girl. "Bab was lying back in her chair fast asleep, and with bright smiles on her face, that showed that she was having happy dreams, when in you ran, jumped over desk, book, and all; threw a little of the ink across the page by a kick with your foot, then looking with dismay at your work, tucked the book under your arm, and jumped through the window with it."

Robert blubbered at this. "I wanted to take the ink out."

"You have been a very bad boy," said his father. "You deserve a flogging, and shall have it. I am very much grieved about your book, Beresford."

Robert almost screamed.

"I think more of his laying the fault on this little girl," replied Mr.

Beresford, his hand among Bab's curls, "than of the book."

Bab sidled up to him. He sat at the table looking so kindly at her, and she stood by him, her elbow on it, and with her pretty modest eyes fixed on him. "But it doesn't seem quite as if he did that, does it?" she asked; "he took the book away to make it well. If he had left it with me, _everybody_ would have believed I did it, and he knew that quite well."

"No, he had not laid a plot, but at the moment he put the blame on you."

"That was because he is such a coward. Pray, he couldn't help it; he was too frightened. You were too frightened, weren't you, Robert? You _are_ such a coward!" Bab said plainly.

Robert, still crying, she made his excuses.

"And I am very sorry. I'd quite forgotten; but I did it too."

Mr. Beresford smiled.

"Did what, little Bab?"

"Ah, perhaps you'll be angry, and I shall be so _very_ sorry; but I must tell. I did it too."

She sidled up a little nearer, and looked gently at him.

"Did what too?"

"I spurted a little--leetle ink by a spluttering pen, and it was a bad fairy called Blackame; and another fairy was just telling me how to set it right, when Robert must have rushed in and did it all; but if I hadn't put the book _on_ the desk _near_ the ink, nothing would have happened, and Robert would be happy. Oh, please, Uncle Jem, don't flog Robert."

"Very well; you are a good little thing, Bab. Go to bed this moment, sir; perhaps I may let you off, as your cousin is so kind."

Robert left the room, and his father followed to at least give him a good scolding. Bab was left alone with Mr. Beresford. She stood near him, with a wistful expression about both her face and her figure.

"Will it spoil the book? And it has all happened because I was naughty and couldn't be taken. I think they had better take me next time, Mr.

Beresford, whatever I've done;" and a humorous look sparkled into Bab's eyes.

"And the fairies came and talked to you? But do you know it was not really a fairy, Bab? You were fast asleep, for I saw you myself; you must have been dreaming."

"Oh dear! And was not it a fairy? then it was just a common dance I had under the tree. But do you know I'm not quite sorry, for she was not half as nice as fairies are; and that was not really a Blackame, was it?

Well, I'm sorry I could call up a bad fairy, only I do wish I had really been dancing for birds."

"I wish you were not so often in disgrace, little Bab."

"So do I; but I don't _think_ I shall be next year. Father and mother are coming home then from the Mauritius, and I shall be an own little girl again."

Mr. Beresford kissed Bab affectionately when she said that, but Bab did not know why he kissed her.

A HELPING HAND.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A HELPING HAND. (_p. 345_).]

Frank's road to school leads over ways Where yet no trains approach, And past the Yellow Dragon Inn, Where stops the Dirleton coach: Here the old horses, Duke and Ned, Are daily watered, changed, and fed.

Frank knows them well, and one hot day, As whistling home he sped, He saw the patched old feeding-bag That hung at Neddy's head Fell too far down--Ned vainly tried To reach the yellow corn inside.

No one was near--Ned tossed his head, And strove, but still in vain, Hungry as any horse might be, To seize the tempting grain; Frank checked his headlong homeward course, And then approached the wearied horse.

With quick light hands he raised the bag, And made the strappings tight; Ned hid his nose among the corn, And softly neighed delight.

For Frank it was sufficient prize To read his thanks in Ned's bright eyes.

ROBERT RICHARDSON.

SOME FAMOUS RAILWAY TRAINS AND THEIR STORY.

_By_ HENRY FRITH.

IV.--THE CONTINENTAL MAIL AND "TIDAL" TRAINS.