38 THE HALL OF SHELLS. 



Every evening the child rejoiced in receiv- 

 ing some simple token of the love that had 

 filled his thoughts all day. Sometimes it was 

 fruit grown mellow and sweet in California's 

 amber sun, or a cluster of roses fragrant as 

 love. 



This evening of .which we write a box of 

 shells was before her, and her father rejoiced 

 in seeing her eyes sparkle as the eyes of happy 

 children who are well. 



She took a long, pointed shell from the box, 

 exclaiming, "Cousin Ellen, papa has brought 

 me a sea horn to call my mermaids to their 

 banquet ! " And placing the shell to her lips' 

 she blew mimic rounds upon her horn untU a 

 flush came into her cheeks, and seeing it her 

 father's eyes were dim for joy. 



" You pretty purple thing," she said, as she 

 selected another shell from the collection her 

 father had brought her, " are you a shell at all, 

 I wonder, or are you a sea violet ? " 



The greater part of the shell that she held 

 in her hand was purple as the veins in her 

 wrist, but to add to its delicate beauty the 

 spire was shaded to white. 



" lanthina fragilis is its name, or the ' sea 

 snail ' it is sometimes called," said her Cousin 

 Ellen, " It is one of the daintiest and most 



