unday school is open to all the poor children who
will come; and there, in pleasant rooms, with books, pictures, kindly
teachers, and a fatherly minister to welcome them, the poor little
creatures find refreshment for their hungry souls. I like that; it's a
lovely illustration of the text, "Suffer little children to come unto
me;" and _I_ call it practical Christianity.'

He did like it, my benevolent old bird; for he rustled his great wings,
as if he wanted to clap them, if there had only been room; and every
feather shone as if a clearer light than that of my little fire had
fallen on it as he spoke.

'You are a literary woman, hey?' he said suddenly, as if he'd got a new
idea, and was going to pounce upon me with it.

'Ahem! I do a little in that line,' I answered, with a modest cough.

'Then tell people about that place; write some stories for the children;
go and help teach them; do something, and make others do what they can
to increase the sabbath sunshine that brightens one day in the week for
the poor babies who live in shady places.'

'I should be glad to do my best; and, if I'd known before'--I began.

'You might have known, if you'd looked about you. People are so wrapt up
in their own affairs they don't do half they might. Now, then, hand me a
bit of paper, and I'll give you the address, so you won't have any
excuse for forgetting what I tell you.'

'Mercy on us; what will he do next?' thought I, as he tweaked a feather
out of his breast, gave the nib a peck, and then coolly wrote these
words on the card I handed him: '_Church of the Disciples. Knock and it
shall be opened!_' There it was, in letters of gold; and, while I looked
at it, feeling reproached that I hadn't known it sooner, my friend,--he
didn't seem a stranger any more,--said in a business-like tone, as he
put back his pen, 'Now I must be off. Old Ben reads an article on the
"Abuses of the Press at the present day," and I must be there to
report.'

'It must be very interesting. I suppose you don't allow mortals at your
meetings?' said I, burning to go, in spite of the storm.

'No, ma'am. We meet on the Common; and, in the present state of the
weather, I don't think flesh and blood would stand it. Bronze, marble,
and wood are sterner stuff, and can defy the elements.'

'Good evening; pray, call again,' I said, hospitably.

'I will; your eyrie suits me: but don't expect me to call in the
daytime. I'm on duty then, and can't take my eye