aven
lay about her still, stronger than the touch of earth.

What if the room were desolate and bare? The yellow sunbeams stole
through the narrow window, and in the shaft of light they threw across
the dirty floor Gay played,--oblivious of everything save the flickering
golden rays that surrounded her.

The raindrops chasing each other down the dingy pane, the snowflakes
melting softly on the casement, the brown leaf that the wind blew into
her lap as she sat on the sidewalk, the chirp of the little
beggar-sparrows over the cobblestones, all these brought as eager a
light into her baby eyes as the costliest toy. With no earthly father or
mother to care for her, she seemed to be God's very own baby, and He
amused her in his own good way; first by locking her happiness within
her own soul (the only place where it is ever safe for a single moment),
and then by putting her under Timothy's paternal ministrations.

Timothy's mind traveled back over the past, as he sat among the tin cans
and looked at Rags and Gay. It was a very small story, if he ever found
any one who would care to hear it. There was a long journey in a great
ship, a wearisome illness of many weeks,--or was it months?--when his
curls had been cut off, and all his memories with them; then there was
the Home; then there was Flossy, who came to take him away; then--oh,
bright, bright spot! oh, blessed time!--there was baby Gay; then, worse
than all, there was Minerva Court. But he did not give many minutes to
reminiscence. He first broke open the Bank of England, and threw it
away, after finding to his joy that their fortune amounted to one dollar
and eighty-five cents. This was so much in advance of his expectations
that he laughed aloud; and Rags, wagging his tail with such vigor that
he nearly broke it in two, jumped into the cradle and woke the baby.

Then there was a happy family circle, you may believe me, and with good
reason, too! A trip to the country (meals and lodging uncertain, but
that was a trifle), a sight of green meadows, where Tim would hear real
birds sing in the trees, and Gay would gather wild flowers, and Rags
would chase, and perhaps--who knows?--catch toothsome squirrels and fat
little field-mice, of which the country dogs visiting Minerva Court had
told the most mouth-watering tales. Gay's transport knew no bounds. Her
child-heart felt no regret for the past, no care for the present, no
anxiety for the future. The only world she car