CHAPTER VII.
THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES.
THAT visit of June's was a bright spot, and the month that followed a lovely one. Never had grass been greener or wild flowers bloomed so thickly. The trees were full of birds, which sang all day, and all night too, as if too happy to sleep. Fragrant winds seemed to woo the children out of doors. They passed half their time in the wood; and often while wandering about, fancying that they caught the gleam of June's smile or saw the skirt of her robe vanishing among the trees, they would pursue; and, though nothing but a dewdrop or a bough of white blossoms waving to and fro could be found, still the sense of her presence never left
