ad that,
night after night, bent over them as a mother's might have done.

She was reading Milton's "Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity," and
only laid the book aside as the little feet gathered outside her door,
and clear, passionless voices blended in a Christmas hymn.

Then the sounds died away again in the distance, and she was left to
follow in her thoughts.

* * * * * *

Upstairs to the great dormitory the children crept; trying to be as
noiseless as the fairies who filled their Christmas stockings. Maggie,
being the gentlest, led the way, and was trusted to open creaking
doors; the younger ones formed the centre of the little army, and
behind them all marched Jane, the trusted Jane, who, though she had
been one year only at the Orphanage, had won the confidence of all.
She was the daughter of honest, industrious, working people, and had
not the sad tendencies to slippery conduct which many of the little
ones possessed. She was true in word and in deed; and no one could
measure the good of such an example amongst the children.

The full moonlight was shining in the dormitory on many a little empty
bed. Who could resist a pillow-fight? The sub-matron was up already
trimming an extra beautiful bonnet to wear on this festive day. Jane
remonstrated, but was met with a wrathful reminder that on Christmas
Day Mother Agnes let them do just what they liked, a great pillow was
hurled at poor Jane's head, and the fight began in real earnest.

Just when the excitement was at its highest pitch, a fierce cry rang
from the end of the room. The game ceased suddenly, and the children
turned to see what had happened. There was that odd little new-comer,
Kate Daniels, standing with hands clenched and dark eyes flashing, in
front of the last small bed.

"You wicked, rough girls," she said, "you have hurt my little sister.
I shall make you feel it! I shall do something dreadful to you, Mary
Kitson. I hate you!"

In their excitement the children had quite forgotten that the little
bed at the end of the dormitory had an occupant, a soft curly-headed
child of six, who slept soundly regardless of the noise, till that
awkward Mary tumbled over the bed and made her cry. They understood it
all now, and Jane and Maggie moved up to the bed-side, hoping to soothe
the sisters with kind words. But Kate stood in front of the bed
glaring at them.

"You treat us so because we are strangers,"