shelter from the pitiless weather, sank down on a chair almost exhausted, anxiously awaiting the children's return to kindle a fire, while his little guide lay curled at his feet. The room was poor enough, it was true; still, though not exactly clean, it was much less dirty than its neighbours, and not altogether destitute of comfort. The worm-eaten boards and woodwork were blackened with age, but a little strip of faded carpet lay before the hearth, where there was quite enough fuel piled for a small fire. The inmates were very poor, but as yet they had not faced actual destitution. Unlike most of his neighbours, old Donald Cameron rarely, if ever, crossed the threshold of 'The Lamb,' so the profits of Chrissie's flower-basket, together with the charity which his affliction secured him, had hitherto kept the wolf from the door.

At Meg Scratton's tiny shop Chrissie was getting their supper. A hard-featured, loud-voiced woman was Meg, and perhaps her dealings with the roughest and lowest had helped to make her so, but she had always a kind word for little Chris.' The feeble light of a smokebegrimed oil-lamp did little more than make darkness visible within, and a repulsive odour of herrings, tobacco smoke, and general 'stuffiness' regaled the customers.

'Two ounces of tea,' said Meg, a candle, and some bread and sugar? Yes, my dear, you shall have them directly. What!' this to a small lad, who at this juncture elbowed his way past Nat, and presented himself at the counter. 'What!

Herrings? No, be off

with you! your mother owes me a shilling now, and I won't trust her with a penny more. Don't show your impudent face here again without the money, or it'll be the worse for you!'

The child, who looked scarcely seven years old, replied with such evil language to this harangue, that Meg seized him by the collar, and turned him, kicking and swearing, out of the shop, banging the door after him. She coolly returned to Chrissie, without making any remark, as though such behaviour on the part of her small customers was quite an every-day occurrence, as doubtless it was.

'And I'll have two pennyworth of dripping, Meg, please,' went on Chrissie, carefully reckoning the money in her hand.

'So you shall, my dear, off this freshest piece. Yes, that's right,' she added, as Chrissie counted out the coppers. No wood? Got some, have you? That's lucky. 'Tain't many folks here got three sticks in the house an hour before they want it, I'll be bound.'

Meg deftly packed Chrissie's purchases into the basket on Nat's arm. The bit of dripping looked suspiciously like three pennyworth, Chrissie thought. Meg had a human heart hidden away somewhere under that ragged dress.

'Come, Chrissie, be quick!' said Nat. 'Won't it be nice to see a fire?'

Manfully shouldering the basket, while Chrissie took

the few remaining flowers, he hurried, with his sister, through the pelting sleet, up to their little attic home. In a few minutes the old man was spreading his benumbed hands over a cheerful blaze, while his little grand-daughter prepared their evening meal. Tony stretched himself full length in the flickering firelight, and dropped his wet little head on the floor with a contented sigh.

'Have you many flowers left, Chrissie?' her grandfather inquired presently; 'they'll not be good for much to-morrow.'

'Only three bunches,' answered Nat, who, while his sister made the fire, had been carefully putting the flowers in water, in an old cracked jug. They did not seem at present much to appreciate the kind attention, but flopped dismally over the edge, and held out but slender prospect of their bruised and wilted petals recovering their beauty.

Oh, never mind, Nat, about those!' said Chrissie; 'we'll do, and I've money for more. Come, ar'n't you hungry? Oh, and so wet, too!' she exclaimed, as he came to the table. 'You must do without your coat a

little, for it to dry.'

Poor children! They had no other clothes to take the place of these wet ones, but they ate their supper with contented hearts, none too plentiful as it was, though just enough to satisfy the cravings of hunger. A crust remained for the morning, which was quite an

unusual event, for Meg Scratton had by no means overrated the hand-to-mouth habits of her neighbours respecting fuel, and the same was true of food. Perhaps, among all the lodgers in the street, there would hardly remain enough to feed a kitten after the evening meal, and scarcely enough money for one breakfast!

The meal over, the candle was put out, and Chrissie and Nat crouched over the fire together, the old man being sound asleep.

'Sing to me, Chrissie,' coaxed Nat, slipping down on the floor, and laying his little brown curly head against his sister's knee. 'It's no use looking for my star tonight, there won't be any out, and I ain't sleepy yet; sing to me.'

'I don't feel like singing to-night, dear,' the little girl replied, her thin hands resting caressingly on her brother's neck, among the rough locks. My throat aches with calling "Primroses" all day, and I haven't breath to sing. Look here, Nat!' she went on, hesitatingly, as she unfolded a rusty piece of crape, and displayed a shining, but scanty lock of long brown hair. 'That's mother's hair, Nat, and it's all we've got to help us remember her, —yes, and father, too. Oh, I did think we'd have seen father again, before this!'

'How

Nat raised himself, and gazed wonderingly at the relic of the mother whom he could not remember. pretty!' he said, softly stroking the silky tress. can't have mother again, you know, Chrissie, and,

'We

perhaps, if father came back, he would take us away from grandfather. Why do you want him so very much ?'

'Why, Nat,' replied his sister, 'the very last thing mother said to me was this," Take care of Nat, my little girl, and be sure you are good, very good, to your father when he comes back;" and I've tried to take care of you, Nat; but father hasn't come, all these long years, and grandfather says he never will. No, never,' she added, slowly and sadly; and I am not to think about him. But oh, I want to know where he is, and why he doesn't come ! He was so good to us always—until '— and the child stopped, confused by the stedfast gaze of Nat's brown eyes into her own-until-he went away,' she added softly, as she folded up the shabby bit of crape.

'Don't cry, Chrissie,' said Nat, as he saw in the fading firelight his sister's face look sadly troubled, and caught the glitter of a great tear-drop as it rolled down, and fell on her ragged frock. 'You've got me, Chrissie, and grandfather; and I love you ever so;' and he nestled down again with his face in her lap.

Chrissie was not given to bursts of grief and tears. She had learned, poor child, to keep her troubles, great and small, pretty much to herself; indeed, it was quite unusual for her to mention her parents at all, though her childish mind dwelt very much on their loss. Presently her little brother's measured and deep breathing betrayed that the warmth and comfort had lulled him into a