Woodcliff — Reading Companion

It is a summer afternoon--the light fleecy clouds float lazily over the glowing landscape--the sun is shining brightly over the deep blue waves, gilding their crested foam with sparkling diamonds, and lighting up the golden hair of a little girl, who sits upon the beach, gazing out upon the wide-spread ocean. It is a graceful form which sits there, tapping her dainty little foot, and laying her hand caressingly, every now and then, upon the head of her favorite old dog, Hector.

Her hat is thrown down by her side, and leaves uncovered a head of remarkable beauty: the deep blue eyes, fringed with their dark lashes, express a world of feeling; the delicately arched nostril and curved mouth betoken pride, but a troop of dimples is playing around that expressive feature, lighting up the whole face with arch humor; the transparent complexion, through which glows, in rosy tints, the feelings of her sensitive nature, lends its finishing touch of enchanting loveliness to the sweet picture; and, as the sea-breeze lifts the flowing ringlets which lie in such rich profusion around her shoulders, seldom could be seen such a revelation of bright and happy childhood as the young being who sits there, singing one of her favorite songs.

A passer-by, who knows something of the thorny paths of life's pilgrimage, would scarce know which to do, to sigh or smile at the glimpse of such a beaming face; but the ever-changing expression and flitting color would be most likely to cause a sigh, as one might anticipate the discipline which such a spirit must taste in a rough and stormy world.

But we will not anticipate sorrows, sweet child!

Bright days of happy childhood are before thee!

She certainly dreams of nothing yet but joy, and hope, and love.

"You're a good dog, Hector--don't we love each other, old fellow?" and Madeline stooped down to rub her cheek against her pet's shaggy head.

Looking up in her face as though he understood all she said, he seemed proud of his little friend's caresses, and making a kind of pleasant growl, he put up his shaggy paw, as was his custom, when he wanted to be especially petted. Not far from where she sits, may be seen a group of children playing with their wheelbarrows.

A little girl of six, and two older boys are busily engaged in filling their barrows with shining white pebbles, and while pursuing their innocent play, they prattle merrily together about the riches which they supposed themselves to be gathering.

But little difference is there between these children and men of larger growth--for these are gathering pebbles, and men are gathering dust.

"Look here! Philip," said the little girl, "I am sure that this is a real diamond; don't you remember when John Stanley came from Cape May, what a heap of diamonds he brought with him, and sold them for ever so much money?"

"Yes, sis, but then you know that he said you might gather a great many pebbles, before you get one diamond?"

"But I'm sure, Philip, that I have found a great many; so clear and so big; I'm so glad, because I'll give 'em all to mother, and we shall be so rich; she won't have to work so hard any longer; I could work here all day if I could only see dear mother smile again."

"Well, you're a good little girl, sis, and I hope that we shall find that you are right," and as they continued their innocent employment, they sang cheerily, and little Susan, in her delight, would frequently stop to clap her hands, and dance with joy. Just then, a couple of boys came up, who had been watching the children for some time.

They were clad in the height of boyish fashion, and with a conceited air, approached our little speculators, tapping their pantaloons with their canes, and with a supercilious manner, accosted them.

"What are you about there, you little fools?" said Harry Castleton. "Do you call these stones that you have been wheeling up diamonds? they're nothing but common pebbles, and you're a set of fools for your pains--you'd better go home, and dig potatoes," and rudely snatching the wheelbarrow, Harry tumbled it down to the edge of the surf, and upset all the contents into the ocean; while Charles Davenport stood by snapping his fingers with malicious delight.

It was a dreadful loss to poor little Susan, who burst into a bitter fit of weeping, and Philip stood looking angrily on.

These were larger boys, and neither of Susan's brothers felt old enough to attack them, although they were boiling with anger.

Just at that moment, a poor boy who had seen the whole proceeding, stepped up.