Louisa trotted off. She had no more dreams that night, but when she woke the next morning, her poor little legs were still aching. She had caught cold the night before, there was no doubt, so her mamma, taking some blame to herself for her having fallen asleep on the floor, was particularly kind and indulgent to her. She brought her down to the drawing-room wrapped in a shawl, and established her comfortably in an arm-chair.

"What will you have to play with?" she asked. "Would you like my workbox?"

"I don't know," said Louisa, doubtfully. "Mamma," she continued, after a moment's silence, "can queens never do what they like?"

"Very often they can't," replied her mamma. "What makes you ask?"

"I dreamt I was a queen," said Louisa.

"Did you? What country were you queen of?" "I was queen of the reel fairies," replied the child gravely. Her mother looked mystified.

"Tell me what you mean, dear," she said. "Tell me all about it."

So bit by bit Louisa explained the whole, and her mamma had for once a peep into that strange, fantastic, mysterious world, which we call a child's imagination. She had a glimpse of something else too. She saw that her little girl was in danger of getting to live too much alone, was in need of sympathy and companionship.

"I think it was what Frances Gordon said that made me dream about being a queen," she said. "And do you still wish you were a queen?" said

her mamma.

"No," said Louisa.

"A princess then?”

"No," she replied again. "But, mamma
"Well, dear?"

"I do wish sometimes that I was pretty, and that -that-I don't know how to say it-that people made a fuss about me sometimes."

Her mamma looked a little grave and a little sad ; but still she smiled. She could not be angrythought Louisa.

"Is it naughty, mamma?" she whispered.

"Naughty? No, dear; it is a wish most little girls have, I fancy—and big ones too. But some day you will understand how it might grow into a wrong feeling, and how on the other side a little of it may be useful to help good feelings. And till you understand better, dear, doesn't it make you happy to know that to me you could not be dearer if you were the most beautiful little princess in the world."

"As beautiful as Princess Fair Star, mamma?"

"Yes, or any other princess you can think of. I would rather have my little mouse of a girl than any of them."

Louisa nestled closer to her mamma with great satisfaction. "I like you to call me your mouse, mamma; and do you know I almost think I like having a cold."

Her mother laughed.

"Am I making a little

fuss about you? Is that what you like?"

Louisa laughed too.

"Do you think I should leave off playing with

the reels, and making stories about them, mamma? Is it silly?"

"No, dear, not if it amuses you," said her mother.

But though Louisa did not leave off playing with the reels altogether, she gradually came to find that she preferred other amusements. Her mother taught her several pretty kinds of work, and read aloud stories to her more often than formerly. And, somehow, Louisa never again cared quite as much for her old friends. She thought the Chinese princesses had grown rather "stuck-up" and affected, and she could not get over a strong suspicion that "Clark's No. 12" was very ready to be impertinent, if he could ever again get a chance.

GOOD-NIGHT, WINNY.

"Say not good-night—but, in some brighter clime,
Bid me good morning!"

WHEN I was a little girl I was called Meg. I do not mean to say that I have got a different name now that I am big, but my name is used differently. I am now called Margaret, or sometimes Madge, but never Meg. Indeed I do not wish ever to be called Meg, for a reason you will quite understand when you have heard my story. But perhaps I am wrong to call it a "story" at all, so I had better say at the beginning that what I have to tell you is only a sort of remembrance of something that happened to me when I was very little-of some one I loved more dearly, I think, than I can ever love any one again. And I fancy perhaps other little girls will like to hear it.