ry Carew, trying to pacify the
struggling Angel in her arms who, gazing after the children, showed a
decided inclination to descend to human level and mingle with them of
earth, "it's true an' that's jus' what she is,--the Angel of this
Tenement, an', as Norma says, you're free to come over and play with
her, though there ain't many of you I'd say it to;" and with that the
tall, gaunt Mary bearing the baby, followed Norma into the house and up
the narrow, broken stairs, and along the dark halls past door after door
closed upon its story of squalor and poverty, until, at last, panting
with the child's weight, she reached their own abode under the roof.

"Which," as Mary had been wont, in the past, to observe, "was about as
near Heaven as the poor need look to get." But now, for some reason,
these bitter speeches were growing less frequent on Mary Carew's lips
since she opened her door to entertain an Angel.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ANGEL BECOMES A FAIRY.

July passed, and in August, the heat in the room beneath the roof set
the air to shimmering like a veil before the open window, and Mary
Carew, gasping, found it harder and harder to make that extra pair of
jean pantaloons a day. And, as though the manager at the Garden Opera
House had divined that Miss Bonkowski had left another birthday behind
her, like milestones along the way, that lady's salary received a cut on
the first day of August.

At best, the united incomes of the two made but a meagre sum, and there
was nothing for it now but to reduce expenses. The rent being one thing
that was never cut, the result was a scantier allowance of food.
Moreover, the mortals seeing to it that their heavenly visitant had her
full craving satisfied, it was small wonder that the bones in Mary's
face pressed more like knobs than ever against the tight-drawn skin, or
that the spirits of the airy, hopeful, buoyant Norma flagged. Indeed,
had not the warm-hearted, loving little creature, repaid them with quick
devotion, filling their meagre lives with new interests and affections,
despair or worse--regret for their generous impulse--must now have
seized their hearts.

Invitations, too, grew rare, from the other ladies of the Tenement,
bidding the little stranger whose simple friendliness and baby dignity
had won them all, to dine or to sup, for hard times had fallen upon them
also. A strike at a neighboring foundry, the shutting down of the great
rolling-mill by the river had