THE FIRST STREAK OF DAWN. 'A heart at leisure from itself It was HRISSIE was unable to pay her pro- The London season had reached and passed its height, and while there still remained ready purchasers, no chance must be lost. Old Donald, too, had somewhat recovered his strength, and his cough was almost gone, so that he was able to join his grandchildren once more, and attract attention, sympathy, and coins by his sad affliction and venerable appearance. Nell caught Chrissie once or twice, and told her that her mother was looking anxiously for another visit; but the days were now so long that the little party did not return home till late, and Chrissie shrank from facing the proprietor of the Punch and Judy show, who might be at home after dusk. Meanwhile, however, the little girl had forgotten nothing of the words she had overheard. She often talked about them to Nat, and was none the less anxious to find out their meaning. It was At last an opportunity for the visit occurred. a drenching summer day, not stormy, but just a steady, straight downpour, the clouds dropping fatness on meadows and corn in the far-away country, and, though neither pleasant nor exactly life-giving in town, the heavy rain washed the hot, dusty roads, and swept a purifying flood through close, ill-smelling alleys and stuffy back streets. As they had enough money for present needs, Donald decided not to venture out, their chances of gain being very small; so, after running round to inquire for Meg, who had not yet reappeared behind the counter of her little shop, Chrissie took her picture and a few of her best flowers, and presented herself at Nell's door. 'Oh, here's Chrissie come at last, mother,' said Nell, as she saw the child. 'Come in, dear. I'm just going out, so you'll keep mother company; she's often alone for hours together.' The old woman looked whiter and more pinched than before, Chrissie thought, as she took the little stool Nell gave her close to the bedside; but the same radiant happiness lit up her wrinkled face when she clasped the little girl's small, shapely hand in one of her own, all crumpled and deformed by disease. 'This is one of my better days, little one,' she said, I've been looking out for ' and I'm so glad to see you. you ever since you came in with Nell that afternoon. And are these for me, dear?' she added, as Chrissie timidly laid her little offering of flowers on the bed. 'Please, I thought maybe you'd like a few,' said the child shyly. 'I'd have come before, but I've been out every day since I was here.' The crippled woman smiled with eager pleasure as she lifted the flowers, and gazed at their sweet, fresh beauty. They were but a few common rosebuds, and some sprigs of mignonette, but how refreshing were their graceful forms and sweet scent to the invalid, and how they carried her mind back to her childhood's country home, and wakened the voices of the dead in her ears once more. What a kind little girl to bring me these,' she said, with the tears in her eyes. They'll not wither before Nell comes in, so I'll keep their pretty faces close by me a bit. Does Chrissie know who made the flowers?' she went on, turning herself with difficulty on her pillows, that she might see the child's face better. 'No,' said Chrissie, 'I'm sure I don't; they grow, don't they? Nobody makes them. I suppose the gardeners take care of them; I see them putting in the plants in the Park sometimes.' |