the sun comes in here," and she smoothed her tiny
palm over a bright beam that lay upon the child's head, and kissed it as
if it were a living, grateful presence. Winnie, too, crowed, and jumped,
and twisted her wee fingers in the warm rays, and seemed quite conscious
that something great and good had happened to her. The mother
participated in the joy, but as they sat down to a comfortable
breakfast, and she missed the red features that had so long been
opposite, her knife and fork dropped from her hands, and the food was
salted with bitter tears.

"Mother," said Nannie, putting down her untasted cake, "ye'll be
breaking your heart for the dead father, and then what'll Winnie and me
do? I'll not eat a morsel till ye dry your tears and help me!" and she
folded her hands and sat gazing upon her mother, with the drops in her
own eyes, until she saw her make an effort to eat. It was a quiet meal,
though, and soon over, and the child was left to tidy the house, while
the mother went forth to sell her wares. She did not mind so much being
repulsed now, for even if she failed to profit by her day's labor, there
was a willing friend to fall back upon, so that there was no fear of
starving; so, with a light step, she trudged along, and the people
wondered what had come over the poor huckster woman.

There was such a winning, cheerful sound in her voice as she tapped at
the window and said, "Any thing to-day, ma'am?" they could not let her
go without purchasing something--a piece of tape, or a few pins, or a
bunch of matches. It did not matter if they were at breakfast, father
could wait a minute for his coffee, and mother would write an excuse for
the children to take to school, so they open the window, and make their
bargains, and hand out the pennies, and the happy woman goes tripping
along, lighter both in basket and heart, and the breakfast has an
uncommon relish, so all think as they gather around the table again.
Charity is a capital seasoner.

CHAPTER VII.

Mr. Bond sits beside his center-table with his legs crossed and his eyes
fixed upon the portrait. He wonders what Betty Lathrop would advise him
to do about the poor girl if she could speak. He hears a great deal
about spiritual manifestations and communications, but he has no faith
in them, and even if he had he wouldn't be guilty of disturbing a
departed soul unless for something of great moment.

He thinks he reads her approbation of his conduct, thus