culty in distinguishing the form of a maiden, fair and frail as a dream. She was bending over the slumbering body of the boy, as if to arouse him to life by the whispered words she was breathing against his cheek.
The artist scrawled his signature in the corner of his completed work and set the canvas in its frame, and then stood before it, scrutinizing it closely.
"'The Waking Soul!'--I wonder if that is a good name for it?" murmured he to himself. And then, after a moment, he said to the pictured lad,--
"Well, Larry, little fellow, the dream's come true; and here we are, you and I,--you, Larry, and I, Lawrence,--with the 'wish grown strong to an endeavor, and the endeavor to an achievement.' Are you glad, Boy?"
"'One, two, three! The humble-bee! The rooster crows, And away she goes!'"
And down from the low railing of the piazza jumped Betty into the soft heap of new-mown grass that seemed to have been especially placed where it could tempt her and make h
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