All her ambition was gone; she let the squirrel run away, and gave herself up to her own comfortless feelings.

She thought now of the uneasiness and anxiety of her mother, and wept all the more at the thought of her own folly.

But, however, consoling thoughts, before long, chased away these desponding ones.

She dried her eyes with her dress--she had lost her pocket-handkerchief--and looking around her she saw a quantity of fine raspberries growing in a cleft of the hill.

"Raspberries!" exclaimed she, "my mother's favourite berries!" And now we may see our little Petrea scrambling up the cliff with all her might, in order to gather the lovely fruit.