whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give
this poor child a penny." He thought so, too; for he went toward her with
a more confident manner than he had shown to some of the others. No! She
brushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the
ticket-office. He stood looking at the violin and the toy horse till she
came back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again; but she
apparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah, she is only half mother
who does not see her own child in every child!--her own child's grief in
every pain which makes another child weep!

Presently the little basket-boy went out into the great hall. I watched
him threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one
man--bless him!--pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of
him.

After ten minutes he came back into the Ladies' Room, with only one basket
in his hand, and a very happy little face. The "sterner sex" had been
kinder to him than we. The smile which he gave me in answer to my glad
recognition of his good luck was the sunniest sunbeam I have seen on a
human face for many a day. He sank down into the red-velvet stocks, and
twirled his remaining basket, and swung his shabby little feet, as idle
and unconcerned as if he were some rich man's son, waiting for the train
to take him home. So much does a little lift help the heart of a child,
even of a beggar child. It is a comfort to remember him, with that look on
his face, instead of the wistful, pleading one which I saw at first. I
left him lying back on the dusty velvet, which no doubt seemed to him
unquestionable splendor. In the cars I sat just behind the woman with the
toy-horse and the violin. I saw her glance rest lovingly on them many
times, as she thought of her boy at home; and I wondered if the little
basket-seller had really produced no impression whatever on her heart. I
shall remember him long after (if he lives) he is a man!

A Genius For Affection.

The other day, speaking superficially and uncharitably, I said of a woman,
whom I knew but slightly, "She disappoints me utterly. How could her
husband have married her? She is commonplace and stupid."

"Yes," said my friend, reflectively; "it is strange. She is not a
brilliant woman; she is not even an intellectual one; but there is such a
thing as a genius for affection, and she has it. It has been good for her
husband that he married her."

The words sank into