would never walk again. The firm sent a twenty-dollar bill to the
child's mother, another "Cash" was engaged to take Ellie's place, and
the matter was speedily forgotten.



II.

Not growing better at the hospital, Ellie begged to be taken home.
Rather than live apart from those she loved, she strove to be content
to remain alone day after day, propped up by an inverted chair upon a
wretched bed. Or, when she felt stronger, with the aid of a pair of
rude crutches, she would drag herself to the window to watch patiently
for the return of the dear bread-winners, whose toil she would so
willingly have shared.

There, in a little stuffy room, upon the top floor of the old house,
she spent the long, sultry summer; there she remained when autumn came;
there the approaching Christmas holidays were likely to find her.

How was it, then, that Ellie was generally cheery and blithe? Perhaps
her mother's prayer each morning, as she bade her good-bye to go to
work, had most to do with it. "May Jesus and His Blessed Mother watch
over you, mavourneen!" the good woman would say, with a sigh at the
necessity for leaving her.

Frequently, when the child could have wept for loneliness, the words
would keep echoing in her heart. She was a well-disposed little
creature, and those hours spent alone often brought serious thoughts,
which molded and beautified her character. But Ellie was a thoroughly