for one side of its head was shorn away; the eye had just been missed,
but the inside of the poor little animal's mouth and throat lay exposed,
pulsating and brilliantly red--a purer hue of blood was never seen than
in that grey creature.

Blanche cried out in pity, while Vassie calmly advised death, seconded
by Phoebe, and Judith looked away, sorry and sick, Blanche called to
Ishmael, using his Christian name for the first time publicly, and aware
of it herself and of its effect on Vassie through all her real pity.
Ishmael came running, and, taking the little beast tenderly, offered to
knock it on the head with a stone before it knew what was happening; but
Blanche forbade him. She took it back, her fingers slipping in between
it and his palm, and stood bending over it.

"Poor little thing!" she said; "at least it's not bleeding now, and I
believe it may live. It doesn't seem to be suffering, so let's give it
its chance. Put it over the wall onto the grass, Ishmael."

He vaulted over and, taking the toad from her, laid it down on the dewy
grass. It sat trembling for a few moments, and then began to hop away
and was lost in the tall blades that met above its mutilated head--one
of the many tragedies of harvest.

Dusk had fallen while the toad's fate hung in the balance; a pastel dusk
that, even as the girls still stood watching, was made tremulous by the
first faint breath of the moon. From the sea came the red glare of the
Wolf and the cold pure beam of the Bishop; in the north Charles' Wain
gave the first twinkle of its lights; while from the roads came the
creak of the terrestrial waggons beginning to lumber slowly home. It was
time for supper, for lamps, for that meeting within walls which enforces