it's the truth she's spakin', fer it's the picter of an angel
she is," cried Mrs. O'Malligan, she of the first-floor front, who added
a tidy sum to her husband's earnings by taking in washing, and in
consequence of the size of these united incomes, no less than that of
her big heart, was regarded with much respect by the Tenement, "just
look at the swate face of her, would ye, an' the loikes of her illegant
gown!"

"Won't it tell its Norma where it came from? Who brought the dearie here
and left it in the naughty room? Tell its Norma," continued Miss
Bonkowski, on her knees upon the bare and dirty floor, and eyeing the
dainty embroidery and examining the quality of the fine white dress
while she coaxed.

"Yosie brought Angel--" the child began, then as if the full realization
of the strangeness of it all returned at mention of that familiar name,
the baby turned her back on Norma and pulling at Mary Carew's dress
imperatively, gazed up into that lady's thin, sharp face, "Angel wants
her mamma,--take Angel to her mamma," she commanded, even while her baby
chin was quivering and the big eyes winking to keep back the tears.

"Sure an' it shall go to its mammy," returned Mrs O'Malligan soothingly,
"an' whir was it ye left her, me Angel?"

"Yes, tell its Norma where it left its mamma," murmured Miss Bonkowski
coaxingly.

"Yosie bring Angel way a way," explained the baby obediently. "Yosie say
Angel be a good girl and her come yite back. Where Yosie,--Angel wants
Yosie to come now," and the plaintive little voice broke into a sob, as
the child looked from one to the other of the circle beseechingly.

The ladies exchanged pitying glances while the persevering Miss Norma
rattled an empty spool in a tin cup violently to distract the baby's
thoughts. "And how old is Angel?" she continued.

Again the tears were checked, while the grave, disapproving surprise
which Miss Bonkowski's ignorance seemed to call forth, once more
overspread the small face, "Didn't a know her are three?" she returned
reprovingly, reaching for the improvised and alluring plaything.

"Yes, yes," murmured Miss Bonkowski apologetically, "Angel is three
years old, of course, a great, big girl."

"A gwate, big girl," repeated the baby, nodding her pretty head
approvingly, "that what Yosie say," then with abrupt change of tone,
"where her breakfast, her wants her milk!"

"An' she shall have it, sure," cried Mrs. O'Malligan promptly, and
retired out th