said, and taking a snowy manuscript from the desk, "now you shall
have your reward. Instead of translating a little French story, as I at
first intended, I have written an original one, especially for you."

A noisy cheer greeted this announcement.

"Is it true?" asked several voices.

"Yes, it is true," she responded, "and if you will be quiet, I will read
it to you." And she began as follows:

"THE STORY OF ANGEL WAY."

"Her name was Angelica, but her little school friends called her
'Angie,' and those who loved her, 'Angel.' This last pet term of a fond
mother, seemed not ill applied, when one looked at the serene face, and
the drooping violet eyes, with the prophetic shadow of her fate in their
earnest, haunting depths. Indeed, the meaning of Angelica, in the flower
world, is 'Inspiration,' and I think Angel's must have come from God.
When you looked at her, she seemed like one set apart for some special
work, like those 'chosen ones' we love to read of. Truly, as has been so
gracefully said, 'to bear, and love and live,' is a woman's patient lot.
Yes, to suffer pain, to bear uncomplainingly through weary years, a load
of grief and shame for others, though she herself may have sinned not,
till at last it grows too great for her feeble strength, and Death
comes, not as the 'King of Terrors,' but a welcome messenger, for whose
coming the weary woman has waited and longed, ever since hope died out,
and she knew life held for her nothing but wretchedness and woe.

"This little girl, I am going to tell you about, lived in the very heart
of a great city, up dismal flights of stairs, at the very top of a huge
brick building, where a great many poor people congregated together and
called it home.

"There were four of them, Mr. and Mrs. Way, and Angel, and the baby whom
they called Mary. There had been another member of the little family,
but God had taken her, and Grandma Way's placid face was no longer seen
bending over the old family Bible, in the chimney corner. It was very
evident to everybody but the one who should have been the first to
observe a change, that the hard-working wife and mother would soon
follow her. Toil, and care and sorrow, were surely wearing out her life,
but there were none to pity her but little Angel, and she was only a
child.

"She was shy and bashful, too, and afraid almost of her own shadow, but
every night she knelt down and prayed to God to show her how she could
be useful to thos