The Girls Own Paper, Vol. VIII. No. 358, November 6, 1886 | Page 7

their union with it when they see
how it can bless and sanctify such union with friendship the most
perfect we can know on earth?
(To be continued.)

THE SHEPHERD'S FAIRY.
A PASTORALE.
BY DARLEY DALE, Author of "Fair Katherine," etc.
CHAPTER VI.
JACK'S SMOCK FROCK.
Twelve years had elapsed since the shepherd first found the little baby
on his door-step when, one afternoon in July, Mrs. Shelley was sitting
working hard at some coarse-looking needlework, on a bench just
outside the house. By her side stood her two younger sons, Charlie and
Willie, both of them golden-haired, red-cheeked, chubby urchins,
strikingly like their father. Willie, who was now fifteen, was dressed as
a sailor, for he had already been three years in the navy, and was now at
home for a week's holiday, while Charlie, whom we last saw crying in
his cradle, was on his way to feed the pigs, and had just deposited his
pail in front of his mother to stop and look at her work.
"Is it nearly finished, mother?" asked Charlie.
The "it" was a smock made of very coarse linen, over which Mrs.
Shelley and another little pair of hands had been toiling hard every
afternoon for the last fortnight.

"Yes, if Fairy would only sit still and help me, we might finish it before
supper. Just call her, Willie, I can't think what the child is doing; she is
in her own room," replied Mrs. Shelley, who is now a comely woman
of six or seven and thirty, and has apparently had but few sorrows, as
not a wrinkle marks her smooth forehead, nor has a single grey hair yet
made its appearance among her bright brown locks.
"Well, whether it is finished or not, Jack will never wear it, I am sure,
so I hope I shall have it handed over to me," said Charlie.
"Nonsense, Charlie, pray don't say anything of the kind before Jack.
Your father will insist on his wearing it, and as Fairy has made a great
deal of it, I hope we shall persuade him to put it on to-morrow," said
Mrs. Shelley, rather anxiously, for she was by no means so sure as she
professed to be that Jack would condescend to wear a smock.
"I know he won't, mother; but what has Fairy got in her hand? Oh, my
goodness me, what is that fine thing, Fairy?" asked Charlie, as, in
answer to Willie's repeated shouts, Fairy made her appearance.
She was a tall, slight child, straight as a dart, still rather fragile in
appearance, but with a healthy pink in her cheeks that did credit to
Sussex air and living. Her hair was long, and floated about in the
summer breeze in great waves of gold, the long silky tresses reaching
below her waist. In striking contrast to this golden hair and fair pink
and white complexion were her great brown eyes, with their long, dark
lashes and delicately, though firmly, pencilled eyebrows. The rest of
her features were nothing out of the common way, but her fair hair and
dark eyes and brilliant complexion would at once have attracted
attention, if, young as she was, she had not already been one of those
people who can't come into a room without making their presence felt.
The name little Jack--no longer little, by the way--had chosen for her
years ago suited her exactly. Lightly as a fairy she tripped and flitted
about, bright as a sunbeam, as though no such thing as care or sorrow
existed in the world. Dainty in all her ways, neat and trim in her dress,
with tiny hands and feet, a better name than Fairy could not have been
given her. She was dressed in a pink print, simply yet well-made, and
altogether the child looked out of keeping with her surroundings,

particularly with her foster brother, Charlie, in his corduroys and his
swill-pail by his side.
"You dreadful boy, take that horrid pail away before I come a step
further," cried Fairy, pinching her little nose with her delicate white
taper fingers.
"All right, but do show us that fine thing you have in your hand first,"
said Charlie.
"No, no, no; go to your pigs first, you'll spoil my lovely present for
Jack if you come near me," said Fairy, hiding her hands behind her, and
running backwards to avoid any chance of a collision with Charlie and
his pail as he prepared to obey her commands.
"What is it, Fairy?" asked Mrs. Shelley, as Charlie moved off, looking
up with curiosity from her work.
"It is a shaving-case I have been making for Jack out of that quilt of
mine you said I might have, mother," replied Fairy, holding out an
elaborate shaving-case, beautifully quilted in