in the light of the lamp.

It was a miracle of beauty. Here in this ugly city, where she had missed
the clean sand and the growing flowers, from the very heavens had come a
sacred robe, for were not the angels clothed in white? And the robe was
covering the world. The gray stone stoops were shining, and on each bit
of cornice or projecting woodwork was a line of light; and she was
moving through it; feeling the soft flakes encircle her, stepping as
lightly as she could that she might not crush the lovely things that had
come straight from God.

That night, as she flung open her window, for the first time she heard
no sound. The jolt and jar of the street car, the rumble of the
elevated, fell upon deaf ears. All her mind was in her eyes that
watched, with ever-growing reverence, the falling flakes of white. And
as she slipped into unconsciousness her last thought was of the heavenly
city that would be building throughout the night.

"Be sure to put on your rubbers, Hertha," said Kathleen the next
morning.

"Why," asked Hertha, "is the snow wet?"

"Is the snow wet? Is the sun hot? It's a mercy you didn't take your
death of cold last night, wandering around with your face turned up to
the sky, and the snow falling about you! Put on your rubbers, darling,
just as though it were rain, for it may turn to that before the
morning's over."

Hertha did as she was bid and returned for general inspection. Freezing
weather had begun to exhaust her extra supply of warmth, and she had
purchased a heavy coat of soft brown material trimmed with brown fur
and with a fur muff to match. A little brown hat with a red quill had
been another recent purchase. She had dipped into her bank account
to get these things and had feared that Kathleen might think it
extravagant--she was sure that Ellen would have--but Kathleen had
silenced any misgivings.

"Spend your money when you have the chance," she advised, as Hertha
began to speak apologetically of her expenditures. "The poorhouse at the
end is a pleasanter life than scraping and denying yourself all along
the road. And you can't be a brown fairy with a quiver of a smile on
your lips and a glint of sorrow in your eyes for many years more. The
sorrow or joy will get the better of you, and that's the end of youth."

"You haven't lost your youth, then."

"Oh, be off with you! You're going to church?"

"Yes, but I'm leaving early to see the snow."

"If I hadn't been up all night I'd g