vely snow!"

"Yes," said mamma, abstractedly, reading off her list; "one dozen
decorated candles; three screens, gilt; six lace tidies; fifteen yards
blue ribbon; dolls--oh, Lily, I have forgotten the dolls, and I must
have them in time to dress them. Knock on the window, and tell Patrick
to turn down town again; but I am afraid the snow will be deep before we
can get home."

"So much the better, mamma," exclaimed Lily. "Oh, I _am_ so glad it has
come!"

Mamma smiled back at her little girl's radiant look, as she said, "What
will all the little poor children do?"

"Do?" answered Lily; "why, they will sweep the walks--look! there they
are now. What fun! I wish I had a broom, and a tin cup for pennies."

Mamma could have preached a little, but she refrained. She did not even
venture to call to Lily's notice the pinched and blue noses and the
chapped hands of the little army of sweepers which had so suddenly
appeared.

The brougham stopped at her signal, and Mrs. Douglas went into an
immense toy-shop, while Lily watched the movements of a little girl who
had attracted her. The child was thin and pale; an old ragged sacque was
her only outer garment, and the sleeves were so short that half her arms
were exposed; on her head was an old untrimmed straw hat; on her feet
shoes large enough for a woman; a faded bit of cotton cloth was twisted
about her neck; in her hand was a broom, made of a bundle of sticks,
such as street-sweepers use. She would make a hasty dash at the snow,
and then, as if struggling between duty and pleasure, would rush from
her sweeping to the shop window, and gaze with an eager and fascinated
intentness at the toys within. Lily looked at her until she became
tired; then, impatient of restraint, she jumped out of the carriage,
and went into the shop after her mother; but Mrs. Douglas was down at
the end of the counter, surrounded by people, and in front of Lily, near
the door, was a basket of dolls gazing up at her with bewitchingly
inviting glances. She began to name them--Jessie, Matilda, Clarissa,
Marguerite, Cleopatra--no, she concluded, she wouldn't have Cleopatra.
What should this other darling be named?--Rosamond.

"Do you think Rosamond a pretty name?" said a timid little voice near
her. It came from the girl she had watched from the carriage window.

"Well, not very," answered Lily; "but you see I have such a large family
that I don't know what to call them all. What name do you like bes