Gypsy's Cousin Joy

hands, looked into each othe

we are

es

cry. Gypsy squeezed her hand ve

I thought I knew. Oh

Joy did not say an angry word. She only sobbed away quietly, clutching at Gypsy's hand as if she were very mu

self out against the sky, in that hideous likeness to a fleshless hand which night and darkness always lend to them. Even Gypsy, though she had been in the woods many times at night before, shuddered as she stood looking up. A queer thought came to her, of an old fable she had sometime read in Tom's mythology; a fable of some huge Titans, angry and fi

ning rustle of an unseen snake among the fallen leaves. From somewhere, too, where precipices

night!" sobbed Joy

rst moment of horror when she stood looking up at t

night," speaking in a decided, womanly way, a

s, if they didn't, we could sit down in a dry place somewhere, and wait till morning; there wou

d her. When it was all buttoned, she suddenly remembered that Gypsy w

throat as warm as you can. I got you into this scrape, a

rong, like a boy's. But there was no answer. They called again and again; they stopped after each cry, with breath

out into f

and here any longer," sa

ow which way. What shall

wonder a bit if the path were right over there where it l

c party, roused and frightened, were searching every thicket, and shouting their names

remarkable sound. It was a laugh from Gypsy-actually a soft, merry

gh at, I should like to know?" said Joy, provo

ending mirth; "but I was thinking-I couldn't help it, Joy, now, possibly-h

sently. They were still running on together, but their hands w

words were scarcely off from her lips before she cried out

as to

t over upon the ground, but off. Off into horrible, utter

marble statue, her hands thrown above her head,

tly down after Joy, clinging with her hands and feet to the side of the cliff; slipping, rolling, getting to he

st the same. It proved to be only ten, and she landed somewhere on a patch

, flat upon the ground. It wa

dark, and just then Joy moaned faintly. Gypsy's heart gave a great thump. In that moment, in the moment o

d Joy; "it must be bro

ken, but very

asked Gypsy, her face a

r feet, but fell heavi

stones were piled upon each other. They had fallen into a sort of unroofed cave,-a hollow, shut in completely and impassably. Impassably to Joy;

owly. She had scarcely finished her sentence

see! what

asked Joy bet

isn't th

forest. At the same instant a white cloud of smoke puffed down almost into their faces. Before they had time to stir or cry out, a great jet

tain was

her-and it was horrible that it should come to her just then-of something she had seen when she was a very little girl, and never forgotten, and never would forget. A mountain burning for weeks, and a wo

p in an agon

? We shall die here! We

little pool at the bottom of the gully. It passed

eet, fell, crawled u

r than herself, and nearly as heavy. How she did it she never knew. Terror gav

re was not so much as a crevice opening between them; there was not a spot that Joy could climb. Across, the great tongues of flame tossed themselves into the air, and glared awful

ell they would fal

wn and cover

e ravine at twilight, he threw down his half-burnt cigar: threw it down and wal

climb the cliffs; she was agile, fearless, as used to the mountains as a young chamois, and the ascent, as I said, though steep, was not high. Once out of that gully where death was certain, she would have at least a chance of life. The fire if

But should she leave Joy, crippled and helpless, to die alone in this horrible place? Should she do

n do anything," she s

" shrieked Joy. "Gypsy, Gypsy

other had done, into the pool. The glare shot deeper and redder into

trong, so full of warm, young life; the next to lie buried in a hideous tangle of fallen, flaming trunks, thei

ery day," sobbed Joy, weakly.

im to stop the fire. If He can't, may

began the first words that came to her:-"Our Father which art in Heaven," and

they were st

, "I've been real ugly to you s

lot, and made fun of you

ver be cross to you as long as ever I liv

me, you know. Oh, Gypsy, it

me,

ch other throu

rlor now, watching

ravine, lying there, a bridge of flame, and lighting the underbrush upon the opposite side. One tree stood yet. That would fall, when it fell, directly

on't stay here with me.

voice; "if it hadn't been for me you wouldn't be here. I'm

er, indeed, she ought to have kept it, are questions open to discussion. Something happened just then that saved the trouble of

ched out their arms to with a great cry, as if it had been an angel from heaven. A shower almost like the bursting of a cloud,-great, p

aring bridge blackened slowly; the pine-tree, swayed by the sudden winds, fell into the forest, and the r

d outstretched hands, springing over the

! Oh, father,