How ardent I seized it, with hands that were

glowing,

And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell!

Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well:

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the

well.

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it,

As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my

lips!

Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,

The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habi

tation,

The tears of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well:

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the

On the west shore of Scotland is a lovely little sheet of water called a loch. It runs far up into the land. On one side great hills slope down into the water. On the other side of the loch is a little village. It is built almost on the edge of the loch.

At low tide banks of beautiful golden seaweed are left on the shore. On this seaweed great flocks of sea-gulls come to feed.

In the village lived a minister who had a dog named Oscar. No one lived with the minister. A woman named Janet cooked for him. Oscar and the minister were fast friends.

One of Oscar's great joys was to go down

to the shore when the tide was low and run at the flocks of sea-gulls feeding on the seaweed. He would scatter them in the air, making them look like a cloud of large snowflakes. This Oscar did again and again.

Oscar went with his master on almost all his journeys. One day the minister said,

66

No, Oscar, lad! not to-day! not to-day! I can't take you with me. You must stay in the yard. No run by the loch this afternoon, lad! 'Tis too long, and you are not so strong as you were. We are growing old together,

Oscar."

The dog watched his master till he crossed the little bridge and went up into the glen. Then he lay down to rest. Janet had gone to visit at a friend's house.

He began to feel drowsy.

Oscar was left alone.

"The gulls will be feeding on the banks now! How I wish-" and his eyes closed. He was sound asleep. He dreamed that he was dashing along the shore in the midst of a great flock of gulls, when- what? White feathers! Two gulls! Was he still dreaming? No; the gulls were real! What

luck! He could not go to the gulls, so the gulls had come to him.

He made a rush at

the two white birds.

They did

not fly! "What

stupid old gulls

they are!"

thought Oscar.

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They are too stupid to fly."

And, indeed, the birds did not fly. They fluttered about, and at last fell over. Oscar was now greatly frightened. Could it be that he had killed them? What would his kind master say? Oscar could never tell how those birds came to be in his yard.