ng girl's highest hopes
that had to wear themselves out in empty longings, the invalid's scanty
exchequer only sufficing for doctor's bills and similar twelvemonth,
along with several other broken-down lodgers whose slender means
compelled them to call this place "home"--this place where never a bit
of sunshine seemed to come; where even the birds hated to stop for a
song as they flew merrily over the tree-tops. And no wonder. The trees
were scraggy, loppy old things hanging down in dismal sweep over the
leaky roof and damp walls. They had to stay--the lodgers, but the birds
and the sunshine tossed off the whole responsibility of life in such a
gloomy old home, and flitted to gayer quarters. But now, what if Heart's
Delight could really be theirs!

"Yer goin' ter tell 'em how to paint dem tings yer daub?" broke in Viny,
and snapping off this delightful thought.

"You shouldn't speak so, child," said Caryl with the greatest dignity;
"it's very fine work, and you couldn't possibly understand it. It's art,
Viny."

"Ho, ho!" laughed the small black figure, nowise impressed and cramming
her stumpy fingers up to her mouth to keep the laugh in as she saw her
young mistress' displeasure. "It's an awful old dirty muss, an' I wish I
could do it," she added under her breath.

"And I shall begin tomorrow," declared Caryl with still greater dignity,
and drawing herself to her full height. "Aunt Sylvia says she'll try
you. Now you'll be good, won't you?" she added anxiously. "It's only for
two hours a day, Viny."

"I'll be good," declared Viny, "'strue's I live an' breeve." Meanwhile
the darkest of plans ran riot in her little black head.

"Heart's Delight--Heart's Delight!" sang Caryl's happy voice all that
day; and like St. Patrick's poor imprisoned snake, she began to feel
that to-morrow would never come.

But hours come and go, and Caryl awoke the next morning, the brightest,
cheeriest morning that ever called a happy girl out of bed.

"Aunt Sylvia won't have many more days in that dark little room of
hers," she cried to herself, throwing on her clothes rapidly. "Oh, dear,
where ARE the pins? I can't bear to wait a minute any more than Viny,
when I think of that dear lovely nest, and the bay-window, and all that
sunshine. I'll always have it full of flowers, and the bird shall sing
all the time, and--and--and--"

The rest was lost in a dash of cold water over the rosy face, and Caryl
soon presented herself at her aunt'