if blown from heaven, descended round her path the showers of the painted butterflies, to feed, sleep, or die—­undisturbed by her—­upon the wild flowers—­with wings, when motionless, undistinguishable from the blossoms.  And well she loved the brown, busy, blameless bees, come thither for the honey-dews from a hundred cots sprinkled all over the parish, and all high over-head sailing away at evening, laden and wearied, to their straw-roofed skeps in many a hamlet-garden.  The leal of every tree, shrub, and plant, she knew familiarly and lovingly in its own characteristic beauty; and was loath to shake one dew-drop from the sweetbriar-rose.  And well she knew that all nature loved her in return—­that they were dear to each other in their innocence—­and that the very sunshine, in motion or in rest, was ready to come at the bidding of her smiles.  Skilful those small white hands of hers among the reeds, and rushes, and osiers—­and many a pretty flower-basket grew beneath their touch, her parents wondering on their return home to see the handiwork of one who was never idle in her happiness.  Thus, early—­ere yet but five years old—­did she earn her mite for the sustenance of her own beautiful life!  The russet garb she wore she herself had won—­and thus Poverty, at the door of that hut, became even like a Guardian Angel, with the lineaments of heaven on her brow, and the quietude of heaven beneath her feet.

But these were but her lonely pastimes, or gentle task-work self-imposed among her pastimes; and itself, the sweetest of them all, inspired by a sense of duty, that still brings with it its own delight—­and hallowed by religion, that even in the most adverse lot changes slavery into freedom—­till the heart, insensible to the bonds of necessity, sings aloud for joy.  The life within the life of the “Holy Child,” apart from even such innocent employments as these, and from such recreations as innocent, among the shadows and the sunshine of those silvan haunts, was passed, let us fear not to say the truth, wondrous as such worship was in one so very young—­was passed in the worship of God; and her parents—­though sometimes even saddened to see such piety in a small creature like her, and afraid, in their exceeding love, that it betokened an early removal from this world of one too perfectly pure ever to be touched by its sins and sorrows—­forbore, in an awful pity, ever to remove the Bible from her knees, as she would sit with it there, not at morning and at evening only, or all the Sabbath long as soon as they returned from the kirk, but often through all the hours of the longest and sunniest week-days, when there was nothing to hinder her from going up to the hillside, or down to the little village, to play with the other children, always too happy when she appeared—­nothing to hinder her but the voice she heard speaking to her in that Book, and the hallelujahs that, at the turning over of each blessed page, came upon the ear of the “Holy Child” from white-robed saints all kneeling before His throne in heaven!