THE child had been named Alice, but when she was a wee little thing, they had some way got to calling her Trot; and so by the name of Trot she was known all through the village. 

Now, Trot's mamma was dead, and her papa, who was a doctor, was gone from home much of the time. They lived near the edge of the village, in a large old house, quite a way from the street. 

In front of the house, just outside the picket fence, was a long row of poplars, standing straight and tall, like so many soldiers. Inside the yard were pines and drooping elms, so that you could not see out to the street at all. 

As we have said, Trot's mamma was dead, so Aunt Jane kept house for them. Now, Aunt Jane was at heart a kind woman, and really loved little Trot; but she had such a stiff, stern way that you would never have thought she did. To be sure, Trot was always well dressed, and her hair nicely curled every morning; but that done, Aunt Jane's duty was through. She never thought of taking Trot upon her lap or rocking her to sleep at night, as the child could dimly remember her mamma had done. So, as Trot had no brothers or sisters, it came to pass that she was left very much to herself; and in the summer she would wander day after day about the large yard, and play under the old trees, talking to her dolls and kittens as if they could understand what she said. Aunt Jane never worried about her so long as she came to her meals.

Now, Trot loved her father dearly, and it was a great treat to her when he would take her into his buggy and let her ride with him. Otherwise she seldom went out of the yard, for the gate-latch was too high for her to reach; and, besides, Aunt Jane had straightly charged her that she must never go out into the street alone. To be sure, she went with her aunt every Sunday to the village church, and sat in the straight-backed pew, and listened very hard to understand what the minister said; but Aunt Jane never let her stay to the Sunday-school afterward. After they went home, she must learn five verses from her little red Testament, and recite them to her aunt. But the late dinner over, Aunt Jane always went to sleep; and then Trot was free to wander about as on other days, only sometimes when papa was home, he would read her stories, and tell her about her mamma.

But one Sunday afternoon Trot wandered down the winding gravel-walk, and finding the gate open, she slipped out, and went trudging down the street. How nice it did seem to be out of that yard! And on and on she went, down the quiet village street, with her bonnet thrown back and her curls flying. Finally she came to a house beside which was a queer-looking glass building. She had often seen this before, but did not know what it was. 

True, she had been told that it was a 

"greenhouse," but she had not the least idea, what that meant. She was sure the house did not look green. 

But now she thought would be a good time to see what it was. So she went into the yard, and seeing no one around, she crept softly up to the open door, and peeped slyly in. Still she saw no one, and so she went inside.

And oh, what a beautiful place it was! On both sides of the long room were shelves, and on these were rows of green plants in earthen pots; and so many of them were in blossom. 

There were roses and fuchsias, and pinks, and many other flowers. Trot had never seen anything half so pretty. 

And as there was no one to forbid her, she picked a handful of the brightest. 

But after a while she heard some one coming, and beginning to be afraid, she crawled under the bottom shelf, and hid behind the plants. She thought that as soon as the folks went out, she would creep out and go back home; for Aunt Jane would wake up, and what would she say to find Trot gone!

Well, that night about dark a man came up the gravel-walk carrying in his arms a little girl, fast asleep, with a bunch of wilted flowers clasped in her hand. "Here, Doctor," said he to Trot's father, who met him at the door, 

"is a little 'un that I found asleep in my greenhouse when I watered my plants tonight; and my wife reckoned it was yours."

"Did you ever!" said Aunt Jane, as, for once at least, she took the now sobbing child in her arms. "What did the child mean to give us such a scare? I've hunted high and low for her."

Trot was pretty well frightened, and promised never to run away again; but she always knew what a greenhouse was, after that. 

E. B.