push up her pillow, she saw Mrs. Minot looking at her with a smile
she did not understand.

"Did you speak, 'm?" she asked, smiling back again, without in the least
knowing why.

"No, dear. I was listening and thinking what a pretty little story one
could make out of your fairy living alone down there, and only known by
her perfume."

"Tell it, Mamma. It is time for our story, and that would be a nice one,
I guess," said Jack, who was as fond of stories as when he sat in his
mother's lap and chuckled over the hero of the beanstalk.

"We don't have fairy tales on Sunday, you know," began Jill regretfully.

"Call it a parable, and have a moral to it, then it will be all right,"
put in Frank, as he shut his big book, having found what he wanted.

"I like stories about saints, and the good and wonderful things they
did," said Jill, who enjoyed the wise and interesting bits Mrs. Minot
often found for her in grown-up books, for Jill had thoughtful times,
and asked questions which showed that she was growing fast in mind if
not in body.

"This is a true story; but I will disguise it a little, and call it 'The
Miracle of Saint Lucy,'" began Mrs. Minot, seeing a way to tell her good
news and amuse the children likewise.

Frank retired to the easy-chair, that he might sleep if the tale should
prove too childish for him. Jill settled herself among her cushions, and
Jack lay flat upon the rug, with his feet up, so that he could admire
his red slippers and rest his knee, which ached.

"Once upon a time there was a queen who had two princes."

"Wasn't there a princess?" asked Jack, interested at once.

"No; and it was a great sorrow to the queen that she had no little
daughter, for the sons were growing up, and she was often very lonely.

"Like Snowdrop's mother," whispered Jill.

"Now, don't keep interrupting, children, or we never shall get on," said
Frank, more anxious to hear about the boys that were than the girl that
was not.

"One day, when the princes were out--ahem! we'll say hunting--they found
a little damsel lying on the snow, half dead with cold, they thought.
She was the child of a poor woman who lived in the forest--a wild little
thing, always dancing and singing about; as hard to catch as a squirrel,
and so fearless she would climb the highest trees, leap broad brooks, or
jump off the steep rocks to show her courage. The boys carried her home
to the palace, and the queen was glad to have her. She had f