foreign parts came t'our house, which, savin' yer presence, is a lodgin'-hoose for poor people, an' he made us understand, with his queer words, that he had picked her up on the wide sea, and the ship had been wrecked; an' the name of it was the White Dove-an' a swate little white dove she has been to us any ways, let alone her black eyes an' dark faytures” "And the man?-the sailor?" interrupted Mr. Burke, breathless with excitement. "What became of him?” For you see he knew that it must be the same man who had brought Rose to him, as it was in the White Dove she had been sailing home also, and it was the very day on which he had found her asleep in his arm-chair. The woman shook her head mournfully. "It's a queer world, yer honour," she said. "It was himself went to bed in the clane bed with the new chintz curtains, if yer plaze, mother had put up only a month before; an' he fell asleep safe and sound, an' niver awoke again in this world, for he was dead an' cowld in the mornin'." "The man died that night," said Mr. Burke solemnly. "How very remarkable !" He paused a moment in thought, and then added, "And who is the little girl? Had she any things with her-anything so that you could find out who she is?" No, yer honour," replied the woman. "Jist the clothes on her back, which were ilegant no less, an' a wee thing round her neck, wid nothin' at all worthy of notice in it, an' she said her name was Aileen. But what are we to do with her at all at all? Trade is bad, and mee mother's health is failin'an' small blame to it, for she's that ould, an' the hoose is hers-an' whin she's gone, my man spakes of lavin' for Belfast, where he was rared, an', says he, the child must go to the workhoose then." "Rose," said her uncle, deeply interested, "can you remember this little girl at all? She was in the ship with you when you came home to me, and the sailor who left you at my house had her with him as well as you." But it is hard at six years old to remember what happened two years before, and Rose, though bright and intelligent, had no particular cleverness about her. She looked at Aileen and shook her head. "I don't quite remember," she said slowly. "I do!" cried Aileen instantly. “You broke my doll." about an hour," said Mr. Burke to the woman, “I should like much to have some talk with both her and you, and I will see what I can do to help you about her. I shall always take a very great interest in her, because she and my niece were together, and were brought together by the same man to Dublin. The day before the poor fellow died at your house he left my little niece at mine." 66 See that, now," said the woman; "is na' it wonderful? An' I niver heard a word of it till now. I'll bring her to ye, an' welcome. It's the gintleman's child she is, any ways; an' her talk was soft an' swate when she came, but what could she do among the likes of us? She larned our ways faster nor we did hers-and small blame to her; but I'll bring her to ye, an' thank yer honour kindly." The uncle and niece walked home together, for it was getting too cold for Rose to be standing, or even running about out of doors. "My darling," said he to her, almost ready to cry at the idea, big man as he was, “to think that you might have been left among poor people instead of being brought to me!" "But I couldn't, Uncle Archie, because I am your niece," replied she, thoroughly contented and unconscious of danger. The woman appeared at Fitzwilliam Place in little more than an hour, bringing Aileen with her, and a small canvas bag, the contents of which she produced and laid on the table. The There was a pocket-book, with the written papers in it meaningless, the writing being quite obliterated, and the photograph of a woman, well dressed, and even in that injured photograph it could be seen that she was of unusual beauty and a lady. face was one of intense interest, full of expression, and the features regular and delicate; under it was written the one word-" Aileen." There was also a long lock of black hair in the pocket of the little book, tied with a golden thread. There was a nicely-bound small New Testament, with "Aileen" inscribed in girlish writing on the blank leaf at the beginning; there was a locket of massive gold, thick, and extremely handsome, and on a spring being touched, the lid flew open, and displayed a delicatelypainted miniature of the same Aileen whose photograph was in the pocket-book. The beauty of the face presented, unlike the photograph, perfect, and with the colours of nature, was striking, and the resemblance to the little Aileen, who stood look What you remember her on board the ship?" ing at it, remarkable. cried Uncle Archie, greatly excited. "A little-just once-she broke my doll. And then we were in the wee boat together, that rocked up and down; and we were both hungry-hungry." "If you will bring your little girl to my house in 66 And you kept this locket, though it is valuable, and you had all the expense of the child?" said Mr. Burke, surprised. 66 My man niver set eyes on it," replied she, with some significance; "he niver had the chance, an' V CREWEL EMBROIDERY FOR OW that the fashionable crewel embroidery has been introduced into the Prize Competitions in connection with LITTLE FOLKS, a few hints on the subject, and on how to apply the work to the dresses of the dolls, will be gladly received. The little picture gives an easily-understood example of the right stitch-for, properly speaking, there is only one-and it goes by several names, such as "outline," "stem," "South Kensington," &c. It resembles the ordinary stitching with one difference, that it is worked backwards instead of forwards, and upwards instead of downwards, and this gives it the thick appearance like the twist of a rope or cable. The illustration shows what the crewel stitch looks like when it is used for an outline only; for designs which are to be filled up the stitch is exactly the same, excepting that it may be made much longer and bolder. When the top of the design is reached, the work should be turned completely round in the hand, and the next row should be worked backwards like the first, and close beside it; the embroiderer being very careful to keep all the stitches of equal length, -extreme evenness constituting the excellence of the work. LITTLE FINGERS. with the thumb during its formation, while the needle and thread are passing through it. Having thus explained the stitches, I must go on to mention the difficulties connected with the work. The first and most important is "puckering," which is caused by drawing the thread too tightly. On soft materials one is very likely to fall into this fault, so it is best for young beginners to select coarse and stiff materials to practise upon, until they become perfect. These materials are crash, Bolton sheeting, or oatmeal cloth. Crewelneedles can be purchased anywhere, and are sold at four a penny. They are made in different sizes, and so is the crewel itself, which is sold by the skein, but it is better in the end to buy it by the pound, as when sold in a considerable quantity by weight it is much cheaper. Frames are used for stretching large pieces of work, but the habit of stooping thus acquired is not at all good for young people. A If the work be much puckered when finished, or should require pressing (which it usually does) it must be ironed on the wrong side, a damp cloth being placed between the iron and the work. This will make it smooth, and improve the appearance of the work effectually. The damp cloth must not be very wet, or the iron too hot. CREWEL STITCH. The other two stitches used are the "satin stitch" and the "French knot." The former is used for small leaves and flowers, and is formed by simply sewing the space to be covered over and over, so as to conceal the traced lines completely. People who do not know the proper crewel stitch sometimes use this stitch instead; it is a very wasteful way of working compared with the true crewel stitch, for of course there is as much of the wool showing on the wrong side as there is on the right side. The French knot is employed for the centres of flowers, for fruit-such as blackberries-and for the hair of fully-embroidered figures. It is worked in the following manner :-The needle is brought out in front at the spot where the knot is to be made, holding the wool down on the stuff at about an inch from where it comes through; then with the right hand pass the needle several times over and under the wool, so as to twist it round the needle, and insert the point of the needle again close to the place where it came through, and draw it and the thread through to the back, leaving the knot on top. The latter should be held steadily Our chat and instructions about the right manner of performing the work being now finished, we must proceed to consider its application to frocks, "polonaises," and aprons, for the dolls. It need hardly be said that the flowers chosen for dresses are generally small ones, or at least such as will bear reduction to the proper size. The blackberry, the Virginia creeper, and the jasmine are very pretty, and not difficult to be worked. The strawberry, and blue cornflower, honeysuckle, and forget-me-not, and buttercups and daisies, are all small enough to be used; but we must turn our backs on the fashionable sunflower, the lovely appleblossom, the daffodil, narcissus, and ferns, and many others, such as the pyrus japonica, because they are too large, and do not combine well for such small dresses. Before ending, we will mention that it is best to work the design on the dress itself, instead of on bands which are to be sewn on afterwards; for it will be found difficult to sew the bands evenly and prettily on such small articles. When the jacket or dress is cut out, join the seams, and trace the design on the material itself. D. DE B. NDER the bare branches of the old mulberry-tree on the lawn a little girl named Hetty Martin was sitting one fine winter afternoon many years ago, with her book open before her, which she was reading. Certainly her mother had sent her out to have a run, but Hetty was not fond of running, and as her mother was busy she thought she would not be able to see her, so, disregarding Mrs. Martin's wishes, she read the book instead. She was not in a very amiable mood, and when presently her cousin came and asked her why she was frowning, she answered, "I have come to the conclusion that parents are very unreasonable. I have noticed that whatever sort of amusement their children are fond of they will never let them have. Why should mamma be always complaining that Frank will never amuse himself with a book, and scolding me for reading?" "I think that is easy to understand," replied her cousin. "Frank is a naughty boy who never learns a lesson unless he is made, and would spend his whole time in climbing and running and jumping. He dislikes anything like study, and will not look at a book of any sort. Aunt knows that unless she makes him read and study he will grow up a dunce." "Well, that's all very well," replied Hester, patronisingly. "Frank is a very naughty boy, I quite agree about that; but then I'm fond of books, and mamma is always scolding me, and telling me to put down my book and go for a run, or do some sewing, or play with Frank, or come for a walk with her, or weed my garden, or anything but read, and I don't like it. Why can't I read ?" "Do you think you know what is best for yourself rather than your mother?" her cousin asked. PUNISHMENT. "Yes, I am sure I do," with great decision. "People think children know nothing." "And children seem to think they know everything. I think I can tell why Aunt Mary forbids you to read so much; in the first place you have weak eyes, haven't you?" "Well, but reading doesn't hurt them. Needlework is worse, and so's the sun." "Well, in the second place," replied her cousin, "when a little girl reads every book that comes in her way, whether it is suitable for her or not, she generally becomes very old-fashioned and unchildish. Do you suppose you're old-fashioned, Hester?" "Well, if I am, what harm? I can't know too much, I suppose?" "I didn't mean that you had wisdom or knowledge beyond your years, but that you get your head filled with ideas that you are not wise enough to think over seriously. Then it is right and proper for a child to run about and play, which makes her strong and healthy." "Well, but I never feel ill, and I don't mind if I do. I'd rather read, even if it did give me a headache." "You don't understand what you are talking about," said Florence, beginning to lose patience with her argumentative little cousin. "If you were always ill you would be very miserable, far more discontented than you are now, for your nature is a discontented one; and though you may feel strong enough at present, the want of proper exercise in your childhood may make you grow up sickly and wretched." laughingly. "I don't know any two that express more discontent, and the tone of voice that goes with 'Well, but,' is always disrespectful, generally very rude, and most certainly full of ill-temper. Now, I am going to forbid 'Well, but,' to be used in my house, and whoever uses it will have to pay a fine of sixpence." "Well, but, papa," cried Hester in an injured tone, "I should lose a week's pocket-money every time." "Sixpence, Hester," said her father gravely, holding out his hand. "I've only got that one," said Hester, half crying, "and so I can't pay any more fines until next week." And she added to herself, “I shall have six whole days, when I can say it as many times as I like," for Hester unfortunately was particularly fond of doing the very things that were forbidden. "I must think of some alternative for the fine," said her father to Florence. "I mean to entirely rout the army of 'Well, but's.' Let me see, what shall it be? I must get mamma to suggest something." He turned round, and went off towards the house. And Hester lay back against the seat, taking an occasional furtive glance at her book. The truth was, that she had no business with the book at all, and she knew it, and this fact was the real mainspring of her conversation with her big cousin. "What a long time they are" she said, dipping more largely into the pages of the exciting story she had got hold of, as the probability of her mother coming out seemed to grow less. But presently she heard her mother's voice somewhere away behind the bushes. She could just catch the sounds, mingling with the deeper tones of her father's voice. "She ought to run about," her mother was saying, "and then she would have rosy cheeks and bright eyes like other children. Make her keep on running until she finds the sixpence. That would soon cure her of 'Well, but.'" 'She'd have to run such a long way," said her father. "To-day's only Tuesday, and if she didn't pick up a sixpence, which is hardly likely, she'd have to go on running until Saturday." "It would do her all the good in the world," said her mother. "What a dreadful punishment!" said Hetty to herself. "I should never have believed papa and mamma could have been so cruel, if I hadn't heard it with my own ears. But it's all nonsense, just to frighten me. They'd never think of anything so ridiculous. Besides, what would become of my birthday? Oh, it must surely be only in fun." "I don't believe you'd ever get her to do it," said her father. "She'd have to do it if she were made," replied her mother. "But I wouldn't let them," grumbled Hetty. Just at this moment she felt a strange twitching in her legs. It went off again in a minute or two, and she heard her mother sayingShe'd get "She's a very podgy little figure. quite nice and thin in three or four days." "Well, but why should I be thin?" 66 Sixpence !" called out her father, suddenly standing before her. "Well, but I gave you my last." "Oft you go!" cried out her father in a stentorian voice. Something, I suppose, in her father's voice must have had an unusual effect upon lazy Hetty, for she jumped down from the seat, and, very much against her will, felt herself running. Slowly at first, and very much against the grain, as if she were being driven by a strong wind, and trying with all her might and main not to go with it. But her legs seemed to carry her, in spite of her determination not to run. Quicker and quicker every moment, until her feet seemed to skin over the ground. She was round the garden in no time. She didn't like it at all. "You're not running fast enough," cried her mother. "Well, but I'm tired of running already." Unfortunate words. As she said them she felt her feet spinning along faster and faster. "Stop me, mamma!" she cried out in an imperative tone she was very fond of using. "Not until you pay the fine," replied her father. Hetty burst out into a rage of tears. "How am I to get sixpence? Why, there were one on the ground I shouldn't be able to pick it up while I was running like this." "Then you must go on running till you do," said her mother coldly. She cried louder than ever at this; but it was uncomfortable work to run and cry at the same time. Suddenly she dried her eyes, for an idea had come into her head. She'd run right out of the garden, and that would frighten them. Just as an act of defiance, she snatched up the book she had been reading from under the mulberry-tree. To her surprise, it flew open, and seemed to stand before her eyes in such a distinct way that she could not help reading. But the unfortunate part of it was that she was somehow obliged to read as fast as she ran, and the words all jammed up together so closely that she could only get a sort of glimmering of reason out of them, and |