FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 185 



XXXV. 



LOST ! 



CAN you imagine anything that could 

 cause a more hopeless sinking of your heart 

 than to have it suddenly announced to you 

 in the gloaming that your child had strayed 

 away and was lost ? The light lingers on 

 the edge of the sky above the hills, the steel 

 gray showing that the dust has recently 

 been washed out of it. The stars be-gem 

 the vault overhead, and the crescent moon 

 has just begun to throw down a faint re 

 flected light, a suggestion only of what she 

 may do when she grows older and stronger. 

 There is an uncertain mingling of the day 

 light, which is fast fading, and the lamp 

 light, which hai dly serves to do more than 

 to make the coming darkness visible, and 

 the dew is falling, and there is a suspicion 

 of a chill in the air, and the child is lost. 



Quick ! The darkness grows apace. 

 Whither shall we go ? Down behind the 

 inn to the brook, or by the road to the 



