all so black and dismal, so strangely warm and close down there, he could not tell how the time went on, but it seemed as if Fye had been absent long. He almost began to fear lest he was about to play him false, and at last his fear was beginning to gain the mastery. Just then he heard the gnome panting towards him.

'I am coming,' he said. 'Sorry-to have kept—you so-long; but-it's a great-load for-me, and I had -some little trouble-to find one. They're rather rare stones,-and in great request. Lift me up;—I can't jump with it in my hands.'

'See here,' he went on, when his request had been complied with, and he had regained breath; 'here is a precious stone, called a sapphire. It has been wrought with great exertion and care by our slaves. This stone frees from all enchantment. Used with singleness of heart and faith, you cannot fail to succeed in your quest. Adieu. The gnome Fye's good wishes and gratitude follow you.'

The count returned home, holding his treasure-the precious blue stone-carefully in his hand. Accompanied by his wife, he set out at once into the wood, their hearts beating high with expectation. The sapphire guided them in the right way, showing the direction they should take by flashes of increased light. When they

neared the dense forest, usually so impenetrable, it all changed into fair woodland paths at sight of the stone, and the anxious parents passed in safety to the marble house. They entered, turning neither to right or left. They did not stay to admire its beauties, but walked straight to the throne-room, where Winnabelle sat in state, surrounded by the children.

When she saw the count and countess come in, she stared in amazed anger. Hardly had the count opened his hand and revealed his lovely gem, than her face became first of an ashy hue, then ugly and shrivelled, then she shrunk and shrunk, trembling violently, and at last vanished in smoke, leaving a bad odour behind her.

Instantly the lovely house, the beautiful gardens, disappeared also; and all the boys and girls were standing round the count and countess on a piece of green sward under the shade of the forest trees.

Elsie gleefully sprang into her parents' arms. The other children wept; no parents had come to claim them. The count at once promised that they should all be taken safely to their homes, and that till he could send them, they must stay with Elsie. When they heard this, they were glad too; and for the first time their tongues were loosened about the cruelties of the wicked fairy. How much they had to tell! how much to hear!

They all wanted to see the kind sapphire that had freed them from the enchantment; and could not cease praising its beauty, and wishing they could thank the gnome for his kindness.

'Although,' said Elsie, sententiously, ‘if papa had not been kind to Fye, Fye would not have been kind to papa.'

'Still we had not done anything for Fye,' added the others. Long live Fye, and every good gnome; and may all naughty fairies dissolve in smoke.'

The count and countess caused the sapphire that had wrought all this joy to be set in a golden ring, that glistened ever after on Elsie's finger, preserving her from all dangers and enchantments, and reminding her of the great adventure of her youth.

ELLIE GRIFFITHS and Gwen Owen had both

been sent to Mrs. Straytelace's 'elegant establishment for young ladies' (vide prospectus), though the worldly position of Gwen's parents by no means allowed them to pay the heavy school fee demanded by that magnificent lady. But kind Mr. Griffiths, remembering his late wife's great affection for her sister, and considering that it would most likely be a happier lot for his little motherless girl if her cousin, with whom she had been together from earliest childhood, were her companion in this new sphere, would not hear any of the objections which Mr. and Mrs. Owen tried to raise, and begged them to let him undertake the whole care of Gwen's education.

Whether his kindness and liberality really made his little daughter happier, is doubtful. The two children, though they had always been together, were hardly to be called great friends. Gwen, it was true, loved her young cousin, who was six months her junior, and upon

whom she looked with quite an elder's interest; but Nellie did not care much for Gwen. She did not exactly dislike her, but she would not have minded in the very least if Gwen had gone to another school; and perhaps she thought it rather a bore than otherwise when her papa proposed that they should go together. Nor were matters improved when they had lived for some time under Mrs. Straytelace's roof; for Nellie was of a jealous, ambitious temperament, and it riled her to see that gentle little Gwen, who was so far less clever than herself, and who had not nearly so much pocket-money, nor so many sweets and jams and cakes from home, was the universal favourite of the school.

Every one loved Gwen; she was everybody's pet. If any of the girls were ill, they wanted Gwen to come and sit by them; if there were any disputes to be decided, Gwen was called upon to be arbiter; and if she did not win such brilliant encomiums from her master as often fell to Nellie's lot, neither did she have to hear such reproaches on the score of flightiness, want of attention, and carelessness.

So matters stood between the two little cousins when the midsummer holidays, which closed their first school year, were at hand. There were to be general examinations and a distribution of prizes; and eagerly were the