to know of what use such a poor wee thing can be," said
Harry, shrugging his shoulders.

"God knows," said Mrs. Wilde, "and He did not make her in vain."

The next day was Christmas. The rain was over, and it was clear and
cold.

"Hurrah!" cried Harry from the window, "here's our wee bit woman again.
Her hair is as fiery as ever. I wonder the rain didn't put it out.
She might warm her hands in it, if it weren't for carrying that big
basket."

Mrs. Wilde looked out. The dwarf was trudging slowly along, bearing a
heavy basket. The good lady was seized with a strong desire to know
more about the strange little creature; so she hurried to her room, put
on a bonnet and cloak, went out and followed after her, quietly. She
had to go a long way before her curiosity was satisfied; but at last
she saw the dwarf enter a miserable house, in the suburbs of the town.
Mrs. Wilde stole up to a window, and ventured to look in. She saw the
dwarf surrounded by a crowd of shouting children, to whom she was
giving Christmas-cake, toys, and clothes from her basket. She saw her
give food and medicine to a poor woman, who lay on a bed in a corner.
She heard her say, "Have the coals come?" and the woman answer, "Yes,
and the blankets; God bless you!" She saw her take up the baby, feed
it, and play with it,--so big a baby, that Mrs. Wilde thought it ought
to take turns in tending, with the good little dwarf. Then the lady
turned away in tears, and went home. When she had told Harry what she
had seen, he blushed deeply, and Tommy said: "God knew better than
brother what the funny little woman was good for, did n't He?"

A CHARADE

O be my _first_, my darling child,
Whatever may betide;
Meet falsehood with its best rebuke,
An open, earnest, honest look,
Clear-browed, and fearless-eyed.

Be like my _second_, thoughtful, wise,
And in life's summer prime,
Gather and hoard a goodly store
Of truth and love, and priceless lore,
To cheer its winter time.

But never let thy frank young heart
Consent to play my _whole_;
Let will and honor in it meet,
Let Duty ever guide thy feet,
And keep thy steadfast soul.

_Tru-ant_

LITTLE FOOTMARKS IN THE SNOW.

It was at a rectory, in the South of England, that two young children,
a boy and a girl, were looking out of a nursery window, on Christmas
morning,--the morning of the first snow. The girl, who was about seven
years old, w