irs to the attic
where the sick child lay, but it was reward enough to the woman to see
the bright smile that lighted up the little drawn face as she laid the
flower on the counterpane.

All the summer the poor sempstress had been too busy during the
daylight, to afford time even to cross the Square to study the strange
paper on the Fountain. "If learned men cannot read it, a poor ignorant
woman like me could certainly never do so," she said to the child, and
the little girl looked up at her with tender love in her eyes.

"You are so good, you could do _anything_," she whispered, and clasped
the worn hand on which the needle-pricks had left the marks of many
long years of patient sewing. "I should like to see the paper so
much," continued the child, after a thoughtful pause. "I wish I could
walk there, but it is so long since I walked, and the snow is so deep
now," and she sighed.

"Some day, if the good God pleases, I will carry you there," said the
workwoman--and the child as she lay patiently on her little bed,
dreamt and dreamt of the mysterious paper that no one could read,
until the longing to see it became uncontrollable, and her friend the
sempstress promised that she would spare an hour the next day from her
work, and if the sun shone she would carry the invalid across the
Market Place to the old stone Fountain.

The next morning the child's face was bright with anticipation, as the
woman wrapped her in a warm shawl and carried her fragile weight down
the staircase. The cobblestones hurt the poor sempstress's feet, and
she staggered under the light burden, but she persevered, for the
child's murmurs of delight rang in her ears--

"How sweetly the sun shines! How white the snow looks! How beautiful,
how _beautiful_ it is to be alive!"

When they reached the Fountain the sun shone brightly upon the Angel's
Scroll.

The workwoman seated herself on one of the swept stone steps, still
holding the child in her arms, and they gazed long and earnestly at
the writing above them.

Gradually a smile of delight spread across both their faces. "It is
quite, _quite_ easy!" they cried together. "How is it people have been
puzzling so long?"--for as they looked the crabbed letters unrolled
before them, straightened, and arranged themselves in order, and the
Angel's message was read by the poor workwoman and the sick child.

"Love God, and live for others," said the Scroll, and a soft light
seemed to stream from it