A wicker cage, with a lark in it, hung in the
window.
Margary with her pitcher, tripped along to the village well. On the
way she met two of her little mates--Rosamond and Barbara. They were
flying along, their cheeks very rosy and their eyes shining.
"O, Margary," they cried, "come up to the tavern, quick, and see! The
most beautiful coach-and-four is drawn up there. There are lackeys in
green and gold, with cocked hats, and the coach hath a crest on the
side--O, Margary!"
Margary's eyes grew large too, and she turned about with her empty
pitcher and followed her friends. They had almost reached the tavern,
and were in full sight of the coach-and-four, when some one coming
toward them caused them to draw up on one side of the way and stare
with new wonder. It was a most beautiful little boy. His golden curls
hung to his shoulders, his sweet face had an expression at once gentle
and noble, and his dress was of the richest material. He led a little
flossy white dog by a ribbon.
After he had passed by, the three little girls looked at each other.
"Oh!" cried Rosamond, "did you see his hat and feather?"
"And his lace Vandyke, and the fluffy white dog!" cried Barbara. But
Margary said nothing. In her heart, she thought she had never seen any
one so lovely.
Then she went on to the well with her pitcher, and Rosamond and
Barbara went home, telling every one they met about the beautiful
little stranger.
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