as if to form a bright and sunny contrast with the scene that had
just ended. She carried a little basket in her hand, was dressed in a
flowing white skirt and sack, wore a broad sun hat encircled with a blue
ribbon, and her golden hair was decorated with wild flowers. There was
something so fascinating in that merry, laughing voice, something so
pure, innocent, and girlish in that simple dress and that sweet, smiling
face, that it seemed as if Heaven had ordained her to represent truth
and goodness. Setting the basket down on the table she ran to Angeline,
embraced and kissed her, not perceiving that trouble had depressed that
good woman's spirits.

"And you, too, good Father Hanz," she said, turning to him, and saluting
him in her free, frank manner; "you shall have a kiss, too." And she
took his hand and imprinted a kiss on his cheek.

She suddenly discovered that something was the matter, paused, and
looked at Angeline with an air of surprise. Her first thought was that
they had received bad news from Tite, which they were trying to conceal
from her. Almost unconsciously her gentle nature began to beat in
sympathy with Angeline's, and a tear stole slowly down her cheek. "You
have heard from Tite; is he sick? have you heard bad news?" she
inquired, in rapid succession, as she watched every change in Angeline's
features.

Angeline shook her head, and looked up sweetly but sorrowfully in
Mattie's face. "Nothing, nothing, my good child," she replied, kissing
Mattie's hand. But there was the tear of sorrow writing its tale on her
cheek. "God will bless and protect our Tite," she resumed; "but we have
heard nothing from him since the letter you saw."

"I am so glad," rejoined Mattie, her face lighting up with a sweet
smile. "I think about him every day, and I know he thinks about me. So,
now, mother Angeline, you must cheer up. You will, won't you? It won't
do to be sad when Tite is away." And, after patting Angeline on the
shoulder and kissing her cheek, "you shall see, now," she resumed,
bringing forward the basket, "what nice presents I have brought for you,
Mother Angeline. Made these all with my own hands."

Here the happy, smiling girl drew from her basket a number of frills and
wristlets, a worsted-worked candle mat, and a cambric handkerchief, in
one corner of which she had ingeniously worked Angeline's name. "They
are all for you, Mother Angeline, all for you," she said, tossing them
one after another into h