I was wondering what Little Jakey was thinking of this, when, after a moment, he exclaimed,—­

“Vy! ven my moder have make me in ze pic-sure, ce make me mit vings, but ce not say dot I have ze vings, ven I come im Himmel.  Heaven bees in America, but Himmel bees in Germany.  My moder go dare, and ce say dot Gott vill come, and he vill bring me mit him dare, vare ce be.  I vish I come dare now!”

“Darling, you must shut your sweet eyes now and go to sleep.”

“No,” he said, “ven I sut my eyes, zey not sut, and ven I tink I sleep, I not sleep.  I bees cold; too cold I bees.  I tink I die; I tink I go im Himmel now mit my moder, and mit ze baby, and mit Meme.  Vill Gott come, and vill he fine me here?  How vill it be?  How—­vill—­it—­be?”

We sprang to him, and, leaning over his little form, felt that his pulse was really still, and his sweet breath hushed forever.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE LOST CHILD.

BY HENRY KINGSLEY.

Remember?  Yes, I remember well that time when the disagreement arose between Sam Buckley and Cecil, and how it was mended.  You are wrong about one thing, General; no words ever passed between those two young men; death was between them before they had time to speak.

I will tell you the real story, old as I am, as well as either of them could tell it for themselves; and as I tell it I hear the familiar roar of the old snowy river in my ears, and if I shut my eyes I can see the great mountain, Lanyngerin, bending down his head like a thoroughbred horse with a curb in his mouth; I can see the long gray plains, broken with the outlines of the solitary volcanoes Widderin and Monmot.  Ah, General Halbert!  I will go back there next year, for I am tired of England, and I will leave my bones there; I am getting old, and I want peace, as I had it in Australia.  As for the story you speak of, it is simply this:—­

Four or five miles up the river from Garoopna stood a solitary hut, sheltered by a lofty, bare knoll, round which the great river chafed among the bowlders.  Across the stream was the forest sloping down in pleasant glades from the mountain; and behind the hut rose the plain four or five hundred feet overhead, seeming to be held aloft by the blue-stone columns which rose from the river-side.

In this cottage resided a shepherd, his wife, and one little boy, their son, about eight years old,—­a strange, wild, little bush child, able to speak articulately, but utterly without knowledge or experience of human creatures, save of his father and mother; unable to read a line; without religion of any sort or kind; as entire a little savage, in fact, as you could find in the worst den in your city, morally speaking, and yet beautiful to look on; as active as a roe, and, with regard to natural objects, as fearless as a lion.