parched heart of little Cybele, and ran all along there in low
sobs, and, stretching up her tiny arms, she murmured:

"Take me, take me now,--I want to come!" And she began to think of the
angel who had said to her:

"Fear not, for I will yet take you to the lovely gardens where your
mother dwells."

The organ ceased, the priest went out from the chancel, one by one the
people passed out from the church, the sexton closed up the doors and
went away, and Cybele sat in her corner, longing to see again the angel
who was so often in her thoughts, until the hazy light had faded away in
the darkness.

Then the moon rose, and streamed into the church, down the long aisles,
and up into the chancel; and from the window above the place where the
priest had spoken those holy words there flooded a glory of light, while
the columns and galleries stood still in their deepened shadows. It was
so holy a calm as to fill Cybele with a joyful awe. The tambourine slid
from her lap; she crossed her hands upon her breast, and bent forward
her head with closed eyes. Low notes of the sweetest music swelled on
the air; louder they grew; until they seemed like the voices of those
rejoicing for deliverance from great sorrow. Louder, louder yet the
voices of angels mingled with them. As Cybele looked up there she saw
great bands of holy angels rejoicing over her; among them the very one
whose words of consolation had been with her so many days. Quickly to
him she stretched out her arms, and he reached low down and raised her
up to him. And they soared up, up to the region of the sun and the moon,
hearing about them the soft voices of loving angels; the air was loaded
with the perfumes of celestial flowers, while every angel they met gave
them a word of welcome.

The angel did as he had promised, and the heavenly Father, whom Cybele
had prayed to take her, gave her into the loving arms of the mother, who
dwelt in lovelier gardens than those of fair Italy, even the gardens of
heaven.

* * * *

When the people next opened the church, they found a dead child in one
of its corners. A little tambourine lay by its side, which, when they
picked it up, gave out pleasant, cheering tones; but, when they laid the
dead body of the child in a cold, damp grave, they little thought what
happy songs the living spirit of it sang with its mother in the lovely
gardens of God.

THE STORY OF MAGGIE'S JOURNEY.

Little Maggie lived al