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“Have you been sick long?”

“Yes, sir.” What a sweet patience was in her tone!

“Has the doctor been to see you?”

“He used to come.”

“But not lately?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you any pain?”

“Sometimes, but not now.”

“When had you pain?”

“This morning my side ached, and my back hurt when you carried me.”

“It hurts you to be lifted or moved about?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your side doesn’t ache now?”

“No, sir.”

“Does it ache a great deal?”

“Yes, sir; but it hasn’t ached any since I’ve been on this soft bed.”

“The soft bed feels good.”

“O, yes, sir–so good!” What a satisfaction, mingled with gratitude, was in her voice!

“Supper is ready,” said Mrs. Thompson, looking into the room a little while afterwards.

Joe glanced from his wife’s face to that of Maggie; she understood him, and answered,–

“She can wait until we are done; then I will bring her somethings to eat.” There was an effort at indifference on the part of Mrs. Thompson, but her husband had seen her through the window, and understood that the coldness was assumed. Joe waited, after sitting down to the table, for his wife to introduce the subject uppermost in both of their thoughts; but she kept silent on that theme, for many minutes, and he maintained a like reserve. At last she said, abruptly,–

“What are you going to do with that child?”

“I thought you understood me that she was to go to the poorhouse,” replied Joe, as if surprised at her question.

Mrs. Thompson looked rather strangely at her husband for sonic moments, and then dropped her eyes. The subject was not again referred to during the meal. At its close, Mrs. Thompson toasted a slice of bread, and softened, it with milk and butter; adding to this a cup of tea, she took them into Maggie, and held the small waiter, on which she had placed them, while the hungry child ate with every sign of pleasure.

“Is it good?” asked Mrs. Thompson, seeing with what a keen relish the food was taken.

The child paused with the cup in her hand, and answered with a look of gratitude that awoke to new life old human feelings which had been slumbering in her heart for half a score of years.

“We’ll keep her a day or two longer; she is so weak and helpless,” said Mrs. Joe Thompson, in answer to her husband’s remark, at breakfast-time on the next morning, that he must step down and see the Guardians of the Poor about Maggie.

“She’ll be so much in your way,” said Joe.

“I sha’n’t mind that for a day or two. Poor thing!”

Joe did not see the Guardians of the Poor on that day, on the next, nor on the day following. In fact, he never saw them at all on Maggie’s account, for in less than a week Mrs. Joe Thompson would as soon leave thought of taking up her own abode in the almshouse as sending Maggie there.

What light and blessing did that sick and helpless child bring to the home of Joe Thompson, the poor wheelwright! It had been dark, and cold, and miserable there for a long time just because his wife had nothing to love and care for out of herself, and so became soar, irritable, ill-tempered, and self-afflicting in the desolation of her woman’s nature. Now the sweetness of that sick child, looking ever to her in love, patience, and gratitude, was as honey to her soul, and she carried her in her heart as well as in her arms, a precious burden. As for Joe Thompson, there was not a man in all the neighborhood who drank daily of a more precious wine of life than he. An angel had come into his house, disguised as a sick, helpless, and miserable child, and filled all its dreary chambers with the sunshine of love.