was full of good things to eat, and on the flowers lay a paper,
saying,--

'For the little girl who loves her neighbour as herself.'

'Mother, I really think my bird is a fairy bird, and all these splendid
things come from him,' said Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.

It really did seem so, for as she spoke, the robin flew to the table,
hopped to the nosegay, and perching among the roses, began to chirp with
all his little might. The sun streamed in on flowers, bird, and happy
child, and no one saw a shadow glide away from the window; no one ever
knew that Mr. King had seen and heard the little girls the night before,
or dreamed that the rich neighbour had learned a lesson from the poor
neighbour.

And Tilly's bird _was_ a fairy bird; for by her love and tenderness to
the helpless thing, she brought good gifts to herself, happiness to the
unknown giver of them, and a faithful little friend who did not fly
away, but stayed with her till the snow was gone, making summer for her
in the winter-time.

_MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN._

No one would have thought of calling him so, this ragged, barefooted,
freckle-faced Jack, who spent his days carrying market-baskets for the
butcher, or clean clothes for Mrs. Quinn, selling chips, or grubbing in
the ash-heaps for cinders. But he was honestly earning his living, doing
his duty as well as he knew how, and serving those poorer and more
helpless than himself, and that is being a gentleman in the best sense
of that fine old word. He had no home but Mrs. Quinn's garret; and for
this he paid by carrying the bundles and getting the cinders for her
fire. Food and clothes he picked up as he could; and his only friend was
little Nanny. Her mother had been kind to him when the death of his
father left him all alone in the world; and when she, too, passed away,
the boy tried to show his gratitude by comforting the little girl, who
thought there was no one in the world like her Jack.

Old Mrs. Quinn took care of her, waiting till she was strong enough to
work for herself; but Nanny had been sick, and still sat about, a pale,
little shadow of her former self, with a white film slowly coming over
her pretty blue eyes. This was Jack's great trouble, and he couldn't
whistle it away as he did his own worries; for he was a cheery lad, and
when the baskets were heavy, the way long, the weather bitter cold, his
poor clothes in rags, or his stomach empty, he just whistled, and
somehow thin