e relics of a short,
sweet life.

Every one mourned for her, and all her small treasures were so carefully
kept that they still exist. Poor Horta, in the pincushion arm-chair,
seems waiting patiently for the little mamma to come again; the two
rag-dolls lie side by side in grandma's scrap-book, since there is now
no happy voice to wake them into life; and far away in the convent of
San Antonio the orphans carefully keep their pretty gifts in memory of
the sweet giver. To them she is a saint now, not a fairy princess; for
when they heard of her death they asked if they might pray for the soul
of the dear little Americana, and the teacher said, "Pray rather for the
poor mother who has lost so much." So the grateful orphans prayed and
the mother was comforted, for now another little daughter lies in her
arms and kisses away the lonely pain at her heart.

* * * * *

The second small traveller I want to tell about lived in the same city
as the first, and her name was Maggie Woods. Her father was an
Englishman who came to America to try his fortune, but did not find it;
for, when Maggie was three months old, the great Chicago fire destroyed
their home; soon after, the mother died; then the father was drowned,
and Maggie was left all alone in a strange country.

She had a good aunt in England, however, who took great pains to
discover the child after the death of the parents, and sent for her to
come home and be cared for. It was no easy matter to get a five-years'
child across the Atlantic, for the aunt could not come to fetch her, and
no one whom she knew was going over. But Maggie had found friends in
Chicago; the American consul at Manchester was interested in the case,
and every one was glad to help the forlorn baby, who was too young to
understand the pathos of her story.

After letters had gone to and fro, it was decided to send the child to
England in charge of the captain of a steamer, trusting to the kindness
of all fellow-travellers to help her on her way.

The friends in Chicago bestirred themselves to get her ready, and then
it was that Annie's mother found that she could do something which would
have delighted her darling, had she been here to know of it. Laid
tenderly away were many small garments belonging to the other little
pilgrim, whose journeying was so soon ended; and from among all these
precious things Mrs. Percival carefully chose a comfortable outfit for
that cold