away,
Not seeing her mother's tears;
"Mamma, 'tis a month since winter came,
And I think to me it appears
That the Lord will never find us out,
If He's anything to give,
Unless we can, some way, let Him know
The street and the number we live.

"You see, mamma, last winter He passed,
While papa was sick in bed;
He doesn't know we are here, mamma,
And He doesn't know papa is dead;
And so it happened all winter long
We didn't have anything nice,
And so I think it would only be fair
If He came this winter twice.

"Do you 'member, mamma, that little, old man
Who gave me the bright, new cent?
Well, it wouldn't buy much to eat, mamma,
And it would not pay for the rent;
So I bought a sheet of paper, mamma,
And I've written a letter in print--
It's written to heaven direct, mamma,
And I've given Him just a hint.

"Shall I read it aloud to you, mamma?
Yes! Well, this is what I have said:
'Dear Lord, my name is Mamie St. Clair,
And dear, darling papa is dead;
I live forty-four in the street they call Fourth,
And the cold of the winter is here;
My mamma is poor, and I go to school,
And I hope you will send this year.

"'I hope you will send mamma a new dress
Of something that's warm and nice,
A paper of flour, some loaves of bread,
And a couple of pounds of rice;
And dear, loving Lord, do, if you feel rich,
You could send her some shoes to wear,
And two or three pounds of beef for soup,
Or anything else you can spare.

"'I've heard my dear mamma say many a time
That a chicken would do her much good,
And so, dear Lord, if chickens is cheap,
A chicken also, if you could;
With three pails of coal, if it isn't too much,
And some stuff for mamma's lame knee,
And oh, my dear Lord, pray don't think me mean,
But a dear little dolly for me.'

"That's all, my dear mamma, and now let me run
And send it to heaven at once,
For if He don't get it by Christmas time,
He surely will think me a dunce."
The letter was posted, the letter was scanned,
With numberless grins by the men
Whose duty it was to assort all the waifs
That came from the wonderful pen.

"Now where's the dear Lord?" said one of these men;
"That's me," said another, quite grave.
"Here's a letter, then!"--tossing the missive to him,
"And a twopenny stamp you will save."
The le