“You have come too late.  William has already said his lesson, and I’m sure he knew it perfectly,” said Mary, half-reproachfully and half-playfully.

“Mary don’t know, Mr. Glenn; because I am now further advanced than she is,” said William.

“But what kept you away so long this beautiful morning?” continued the innocent girl.  “Don’t you see the dew is almost dried away in the sun, and the morning-glories are nearly all closed?”

“I was lingering in the garden among the delicate flowers you gave me Mary; and the green and golden humming-birds charmed me so that I could not tear myself away,” replied our hero, as he sat down between the brother and sister.

“I shall go with brother William on the cliff and get some wild roses and hare-bells, and then all your humming-birds will leave you and stay here with me,” said Mary, smiling archly.

“But you will be the prettiest bird among them, and flower too, to my eyes,” said Glenn, gazing at the clear and brilliant though laughing eyes of the pleased girl.

“If that were the case, why did you linger so long in the garden?” asked the maid, with some seriousness.

“I should not have done so, Mary, but for Joe, who, you know, will always be heard when he has any thing to say; and this morning he had a ludicrous dream to tell me.”

“I like Joe a great deal—­he makes me laugh every time I see him.  And you must tell me what he said, and how he looked and acted, that I may know whether you did right to stay away so long,” said the thoughtless and happy girl, eager to listen to the accents of the one whose approach had illumined her features with the mystical fires of the heart.

Glenn faithfully repeated every word and gesture of his dialogue with Joe, and the unsophisticated girl’s joyous laugh rang merrily up the echoing vale in sweet accompaniment with the carols of the feathered songsters.

When the narration ended, they both turned with surprise to William, who, instead of partaking their hilarity as usual, sat perfectly motionless in deep thought, regarding with apparent intensity the straggling spears of grass that grew at his feet.  The book he had taken up, which had dropped from Mary’s lap when she hastily rose at the approach of Glenn, now fell unobserved by him from his relaxed hand.  His face became unusually pale.  His limbs seemed to be strangely agitated, and the pulsations of his heart were audible.

“What’s the matter, dear brother?” cried Mary, in alarm.

“La-u-na—­LA-U-NA!” he exclaimed, and, sinking softly down on his knees, applied his ear close to the ground in a listening attitude.

“Dear brother William! do tell Mary what ails you!  What is La-u-na!” said the startled and distressed girl, with affectionate concern.

“La-u-na—­THE TREMBLING FAWN!” cried William, pantingly.

“Listen” said Glenn, checking Mary when she was about to repeat her inquiry.  A plaintive flute-like sound was heard at intervals, floating on the balmy and almost motionless air down the green-fringed vale.  At times it resembled the mournful plaint of the lonely dove, and then died away like the last notes of the expiring swan.