SHE was lost as they went through the wood. How it happened nobody quite knew, but they supposed she must have tumbled out of the perambulator as Kitty pushed it through the ferns and long grasses, and so poor Dolly was left there, lying on her back, staring up at as much sky as was visible through the fern-fronds, and the foxglove leaves, and the branches of the trees overhead.  
Would they come back for her? The children’s voices and footsteps grew fainter and fainter, till at last they died quite away in the distance, and the began singing again on the branch over her head. Presently the little bird caught sight of Dolly, and flew down and looked at her with his bright eyes, and then a tiny field-mouse ran round and over her with her little light paws—which must have , but still Dolly never moved, and a wise old came out of his hole, and twiddled his long whiskers as he peered at her .
 
“Sweet! sweet!” said the robin. “Who is she?”
 
“Twee! twee!” whispered the mouse. “I don’t know!”
 
“Hum, hu-um!” buzzed the beetle. “Why doesn’t she speak?”
 
But Dolly didn’t say a word!
 
Now, eventide came, and the sun grew tired, and put himself to bed under a crimson-and-gold counterpane. The robin found a comfortable on which to , and tucked his head under his wing. The mouse went home to her babies, of whom she had six—all packed warm and tight in a neat little nest hung on to a cornstalk in the next field. And the beetle spread his shining wings and went for a fly round before he, too, rolled himself in a roseleaf blanket and went to sleep! But Dolly never closed her eyes!
 
Then the great stars lit their lamps, and looked down at her through the fern-fronds, but if they said anything no one heard them—they were too far off!
 
“Dolly, dear Dolly, where are you?” cried a little voice, and little footsteps came pressing through the tall bracken fern.
 
But Dolly didn’t answer!
 
“Dolly! Dolly! Oh! I wish I could find my Dolly!” There were tears in the little voice now, and the footsteps were more hurried. Yet Dolly lay still!
 
The grew louder and louder, the little feet almost touched Dolly as she lay hidden under the big foxglove; then the little steps went on, and the sobs grew fainter in the distance, and Dolly lay still staring up at the sky!
 
So the days went by, and the winter came, and the falling leaves drifted over Dolly, and the snow covered her, but she never moved nor shivered—till one day in spring-time a great wind arose, which blew all the dead dry leaves away in little dances—and lo! John the woodman caught sight of Dolly’s pink cheeks and blue eyes still staring up at the sky!
 
“Why,” he exclaimed, “I do believe there’s little missie’s doll, as she so at losing!”
 
And he took Dolly home in his pocket!
 
M. A. Hoyer.