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"I wonder if she loves birds?" queried Nellie Maxwell. "I've got two; I love them very much, and I'm sure I don't know which one I could part with."

"I've got a cage!" cried Kate Waters. "We've never used it since the cat caught our canary, and mother can't bear the sight of it, she thought so much of Dickie. It's a dear little cage too, just large enough to hold one bird comfortably."

"It would be such a pleasure to her to take care of it!" cried Anne. "You see she could wheel herself up to the table, and put in the seed and water, and then watch the little fellow, and hear him sing -- why she would almost forget all her suffering."

"Would she like a doll, do you think?" asked another.

Anne considered and thought that she was almost too old for dolls. "She might, though like a very handsome one," she added. Whereupon the offers waxed liberal; a cat, a pet rabbit, a small dog, a library of picture books, a doll's house, a miniature stove, a toy-bedstead, being magnanimously sacrificed on the altar of benevolence. Anne ventured to suggest that it would not do to have too many mouths to feed, whereupon the owners of sundry pets breathed more freely; but it was voted unanimously that the next Saturday afternoon was to be spent in the room of Tilly, the invalid, provided the premises might be at their disposal. Anne herself went around to see. She found Tilly in her magical chair, making visits to all parts of the room, and claiming acquaintance with every stick of furniture. These "calls" were the girl's special delight, and as she wearied herself thoroughly, her nights were more comfortable than they had ever been.

"The dear thing sleeps like an infant," said her mother, appearing over a wreath of soft white steam, "and it's the chair is a blessin' and a providence. It'll add years to her life, I do think." When Anne preferred her request, the homely face beamed.

"But you're not saying, Miss Anne, that the little ladies want to come to my poor home."

"Indeed they do, Mrs. Margery, and you don't know what nice things we have. Uncle Ralph is going to take great pains, too, and write us some of his best stories. And as this is the close of the month, we're to have a little refreshment. We bring it ourselves, you know, our own cloth, and napkins, and mamma will send over the dishes if you'll kindly let us use your table. It's only a little cold chicken, with cake and some tea. We're to bring the tea and the cream, and you're to make it. Can you make good tea, Mrs. Margery?"

"None better, miss. I was nurse for years before I married, and famous for cooking the little delicacies for my good mistress; and she told me sadly I'd rue the day I got married and left a good home which perpetual it were, but I didn't, ma'am, miss, I mean, for all the hard times, for it give me her, which is a blessed angel to a mother's heart."

"I shall be so happy thinking about it," said Tilly, softly. "I know it's a poor room and we are very, very poor people; but the blessed Saviour of all was born in a worse place, and had nowhere to put his dear head. I often think of that."

"We shall enjoy ourselves a great deal better here, perhaps, than we should anywhere else," said Anne. "At any rate all the girls are very much pleased, and they want to know Tilly."

"Will the kind gentleman come with the long white beard?" asked Tilly.

"Grandpa, you like him, don't you? everybody does. Perhaps he will. How I wish you could go out to his farm in the country, you never saw the country?"

"Never -- but I shall see better than that, when all this pain of body is over."

"You must get well, first, and stay here a while," said Anne.

"Yes, it would be pleasant. I'm in no hurry, only it is all the comfort I have, to think about it when the suffering comes."

The room was as clean as busy hands could make it. The sun fairly laughed in at the shining planes of glass and the poor, well-dusted furniture. Mrs. Margery had managed to fix up a cap, and her neat, well patched dress matched the room for cleanliness.

"I'd be poor indeed, if I was dirty," she often said, "but one feels as good as rich folks, when everything is nice to the mind." And everything was nice to the mind in that poor room, for good and gentle thoughts were the companions of neatness and thrift. The harsh voice or the rash word were never heard there; the rough hard hands were used in tender offices, and God was worshipped, more truly, perhaps, than in the noblest temples that man has ever reared. Tilly, in a new white dress, the gift of Mamma May, sat in her beautiful chair, trying to be patient. Covered with a snowy cloth were sundry little parcels that had been sent in, and a charming fragrance was in the air. Tilly's eyes beamed with a calm, self contained delight. What she was to see and do, were like the visions in fairy-tales to her. She had never taken a meal with any but her mother, and now it was to be like a grand party, and receiving visitors like a lady. It was so novel to have anything akin to the pleasures of the great world about her. She had called upon every corner of the room, and seen that every stick of furniture was thoroughly prepared for her distinguished company. One and another in the old house had lent them chairs, till there were more than enough for all.