ie," she was about to say, but the Angel had
gone a-dreaming and his face was sad, and she said instead:

"What is it, Willie?"

"I know whut's been the matter with me, Miss Hildy--I hain't been the
same since my mother died six year ago." For a moment St. Hilda took a
little silence to gain self-control.

"You mean," she said sternly, "'come _might' nigh_ dyin',' Willie, and
_two_ years ago."

"Well, Miss Hildy, hit 'pears like six." Her brain whirled at the working
of his, but his eyes, his smile, and the halo, glorified just then by a
bar of sunlight, were too much for St. Hilda, and she gathered him into
her arms.

"Oh, Willie, Willie," she half-sobbed; "I don't know what to do with you!"
And then, to comfort her, the Angel spoke gently:

"Miss Hildy, jes' don't do--nothin'."

THE POPE OF THE BIG SANDY

He entered a log cabin in the Kentucky hills. An old woman with a pair
of scissors cut the tie that bound him to his mother and put him in
swaddling-clothes of homespun. Now, in silk pajamas, with three doctors
and two nurses to make his going easy, he was on his way out of a suite
of rooms ten stories above the splendor of Fifth Avenue.

It was early morning. A taxi swung into the paved circle in front of
the hotel below and a little man in slouch-hat and black frock coat,
and with his trousers in his boots, stepped gingerly out. He took off
the hat with one hand, dropped his saddle-pockets from the other, and
mopped his forehead with a bandanna handkerchief.

"My God, brother," he said to the grinning driver, "I tol' ye to hurry, but
I didn't 'low you'd _fly_! How much d' I owe ye an' how do I git in hyeh?"

A giant in a gold-braided uniform had picked up the saddle-pockets when
the little man turned.

"Well, now, that's clever of ye," he said, thrusting out his hand, "I
reckon you air the proprietor--how's the Pope?"

"Sure, I dunno, sor--this way, sor." The astonished giant pointed to
the swinging door and turned for light to the taxi man who, doubled
with laughter over his wheel, tapped his forehead. At the desk the
little man pushed his hat back and put both elbows down.

"Whar's the Pope?"

"The Pope!" From behind, the giant was making frantic signs, but the
clerk's brow cleared. "Oh, yes--front!"

The little man gasped and swayed as the elevator shot upward, but a moment
later the little judge of Happy Valley and the Pope of the Big Sandy were
hand in hand.

"How're yo' folks, ju