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"It's not likely, poor dear."

"No, it's not likely -- of course not. Such as she seldom come to us, you know, but then I like her; it does me good to see her just walking there, so easy, so free from trouble."

"Aye, walking and free from trouble. O, deary me, deary me! what you must feel who haven't touched feet to the floor all these years. I wish I had the faith that's talked of, ye'd stand and walk and run, poor child. I often think if the Lord is so good, so kind, so --"

"Hush, mother -- darling mother, don't say it. It's in your eyes, but I know you would be sorry. Why if we've to go living on, forever and forever, what would I mind, though I laid here a hundred years, if only I went up there at last. Don't you know we can't even imagine the glory beyond, and that I'll leap there like the poor man our Saviour cured? It almost gives me wings, it makes me so happy. A woman who came here once, and wanted to do me good, said, 'What was she born for?' I'll never forget how I felt nor how the words of that old catechism came into my mind, 'to enjoy God and glorify him forever.' One minute there, I think, will pay for all the pains and sufferings here, and then it's so good to think of!" Words cannot express the infinite calm that came with a smile in that sweet face, as she lifted her eyes heavenward, repeating, "it's so good to think of !"

"Well, deary, I'll say you're a wonder to me. Wherever you've larnt all the wisdom you talk of, I can't tell I'm sure. I listened to hear you with that fine old gentleman with the gray beard, and I wondered if you belonged to me. Sure my heart jumped to my mouth, when he talked about the chair, but such as him forgets. They go about their business, and has so many things to think of, that our sorrows go in at one ear and out of the other. I suppose we oughtn't to blame them, but the rich doesn't often feel for the poor; it's a great wonder, too, when they see them all round on every side."

"O, but, mother, he will remember. He was in a great hurry then, but I am sure he will remember. He may not get the chair. I didn't look for that; it's too fine a gift -- thirty dollars! it's a great sum, and to spend that on poor little me. No matter, I'm quite used to the bed; only it's so hard for you."

"Hard!" cried the woman, "it's light and easy, and a pleasure, darling nothing comes hard that I do for you."

THE sunshine had drifted by the little room, and it was all outdoors. It laid now in serene beauty on the bit of garden, and on the green spot of a square. Dame Margery's work was done, that is, the white, clean clothes were flapping in the brisk breeze on the little shed where she dried them, the room was tidied up, the floor shone like a glass bottle, the curtain was drawn asides and so cheery and happy were its inmates, just now, that the atmosphere seemed full of little particles of happiness, that took the place of the sunbeams, and made a stand of it there.

But yet the homely, busy mother had work on her hands, making coarse garments for some family who supplied her with sewing. Tilly was cutting out paper figures, and every few moments, pleased with her work, she called for her mother's approval.

"See, mamma, here's a poor, old, blind man with a long beard, and here's a little dog that he leads by a string, and a girl with a hood on (his granddaughter, you know), who takes the pennies and buys food for the poor old man. What a blessing that I'm not blind! Instead of that, I can see so many beautiful things, I see you --"

"Me! poor old seam-faced thing with the blue afore my eyes," laughed the mother.

"You shan't call yourself names!" cried Tilly, indignantly, "you're just beautiful to me. I love the seams, and the scars, and the wrinkles, every one of them, and I love the dear, hard hands that have worked so for me ever since I was born. Well, as I was saying," she continued, still clipping and notching with the scizzors, "I can see you, and the sky, and the sunshine, and the square yonder, and the flowers, and the birds, and the sweet young lady; why I could not count my blessing if I tried," she laughed a cheerful little hum of a laugh, "then I have my hands, such strong stout hands; if they could only work for you, mammy dear!"

A brisk little knock sounded at the door. The woman opened it, and there shone it its wealth of silver gray luxuriance the beard of Uncle Ralph, and above it his large, brown eyes, and great handsome forehead round which the snow-sifted curls clung lovingly.

"I hope I am not intruding," said Uncle Ralph.

"O, no, no!" cried Tilly, a sudden depth of joy in her voice, then she stopped short, for somebody came in with Uncle Ralph, and stood looking at her for a moment full of wonder and pity.

"I brought my little granddaughter Anne with me," said Uncle Ralph. "Anne, dear, this is Tilly, of whom I told you. See, how happy she looks; a lesson for you, my dear, for all of us, every one of us."