class="pindent">“Woland,” she said beseechingly, “won’t you stay an’ play wid me an’ Pompey?” pointing toward the yellow cat, that was glaring at him from under a hall chair.

It was not a very inviting prospect. He laughed, put her aside, saying, “Some other time, little girl,” and went toward the hall door. The child watched him, her little breast heaving, her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her dress. He was going to leave her, the only person in the house whom she cared for. The disappointment was too great, “Oh, Woland—I fought you would stay,” she said, in a choking voice. Then dropping on the white fur rug at her feet, she burst into a perfect passion of tears.

This was such an unprecedented proceeding on the part of the self-contained child, that a crowd of anxious faces soon surrounded her. “Whatever is the matter with the child?” said her mother querulously, as she bent over the pink, sobbing bundle. “She hasn’t cried since the day she fell downstairs, and nearly killed herself.”

Robertson hurried back at the sound of the wailing voice. “Has she hurt herself?” he asked anxiously. He looked astonished when we explained the cause of her emotion. “Don’t cry, Daisy,” he said, “I will stay with you to-morrow evening.”

The child’s sobs redoubled. He hesitated, looked at his watch, then muttered “I suppose I would be a brute to leave her like this.”

“Daisy,” I whispered in her curly locks, “he is going to stay with you.” A shriek of joy, and the child was on her feet, clinging to his hand with an enthusiasm that made him turn away with a half-foolish air. The next two hours were uninterrupted bliss for Daisy. She spent them in one of the parlors, leaning against Robertson’s knee, looking at photographs of the Athenian Marbles. They were evidently Greek to her, but one glance at Robertson would smooth out her little, puzzled forehead. At ten o’clock her little head drooped and she soon fell fast asleep, so that he carried her upstairs, her face bordered by its curls resting confidingly on his shoulder. When he came down, I saw him glance irresolutely at the clock, as if uncertain whether to go out or not. I asked him whether he would like to come to my room. I had some curios which I had picked up in my rambles about the world which I thought would be of interest to him. Some of them I told him were from Athens, and bore some relation to the Marbles he had been examining. He thanked me very politely, but very stiffly, and said that at some future time he would like to see them. In some way, he hardly knew why, he felt very sleepy this evening, and would go to bed at once. He went, and thoughts of his little companion went with him as he sunk to a rest purer and sweeter than that which had been his during the weeks preceding.

CHAPTER II

Sunshine and Shadow

THE next day was Sunday. As I came downstairs in the morning I saw that Daisy was in her old place, on the lowest step of the staircase. My salutation she returned with reserve, but presently I heard a gay, “Mornin’, dear,” and turning around, saw that she was holding up her face to Robertson for a kiss. Before they entered the dining room, she made solicitous inquiries about his night’s rest. He laughed shortly. “I haven’t slept so well for many a night,” he said. Her little face brightened, and they went together to the table.

The church bells were ringing when we finished breakfast, and some one laughingly asked Daisy where she was going to attend service. “You are teasin’ me,” she said rebukingly; “you