actory, but then
she could not know exactly since she had never been there. And the
angels, what were they like? Again Mrs. Dempsey had been referred to and
again the reply was most disappointing. Beautiful beings with wings?
Why, birds had wings and some of them were very beautiful. As for
singing before the throne of God; well, Peter could not even guess what
the throne of God meant.

He guessed he must be dying; he felt dead already, all except his head.
That would go soon and then he would see the angels he had wondered so
much about. But if he died, what would become of baby? Who would look
after his precious baby? That dreadful thought caused him to open his
eyes suddenly. With a great effort he raised his head and the sight of
the iron railing against which he was leaning made his heart bound with
a sudden thrill of hope and put new life into the exhausted little
frame. It was the railing through which he had watched the children on
that day last summer, and the steps on which he sat were the steps of
St. Teresa's Orphanage. He had taken the right turning after all and had
reached his destination without knowing it.

With difficulty. Peter got upon his feet, lifted the baby and essayed to
drag himself up that long flight of steps. Panting, exhausted, he
reached the top and laid his burden down at the threshold of that door
which always opened so gladly to receive such waifs as he. In the
darkness Peter felt around for the bell. Surely, there must be a bell
somewhere. He must find it quickly for that dreadful feeling was
creeping over him and he knew in another moment he would fall. Where was
it; oh! why could he not find it? At last the despairing fingers touched
the button of an electric bell; they pressed it hard, and a loud peal
rang through the hall inside. Then Peter sank down to the ground beside
the baby and even his head went this time.

A moment later (or so it seemed to Peter) he opened his eyes and saw
bending over him the most beautiful face he had ever beheld. He knew now
that he was in heaven was looking on the face of an angel. It was just
what he should think an angel's face ought to be, so sweet and kind and
gentle, the soft eyes filled with heavenly love and pity. And there were
the wings, too, all white and shining, but Mrs. Dempsey had neglected to
mention that angels' wings grew out of their heads. Somehow, Peter had
supposed their wings grew from their shoulders; he was sure Mrs. Dempsey