Thee will have to take them off in a day or two and lay them away in their box.

'Tis a pity, too, child." "Any way, mother, I will wear them sometimes; they are only shells after all.

'Tis hard I can't wear them because they are so lovely." And the next day she wore them again, and, longing to see for herself how she looked, made her way up to the moor in the early morning sunshine to where a clear pool in the brown peat bog reflected the sky and the gold of the furze bushes.

Here she stood on the edge and gazed at her own reflection in the clear water.
"Oh, 'tis pretty!" she said leaning over the pool, and as she gazed her own beautiful face with its halo of golden hair impressed itself on her mind as it had never done before.

"And there's pretty I am, too," she whispered, and gazing at her own image she blushed, entranced with the vision.