eyes of little faces nearly as beautiful as Davy's. Roses are sweetest
when the dew sparkles on them.

"Oh, my dear sir, no. None of them are as pretty as he was." Such is
the opinion of the shepherdess. "We see only one like him in a
lifetime," she testifies. A wee, blue chair is vacant in the first row
at the end--clearly the place of honor. A withered wreath lies on the
chair. The man's eyes are fastened on that spot. Here is a world of
which he knew nothing. Here he follows in the very footsteps.

"Listen, listen," says the motherly teacher. "This is Davy's father."

Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. Strange power
of human pity!

[Illustration: Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed.]

"Little Davy is with Jesus," says the shepherdess. "Now all you who
want to be with Jesus, raise your hands."

Every right hand is up. Their faith is implicit, but many a left hand
is pulling a neighboring curl. Busy is that long shepherd crook, to
defeat those wicked left hands.

A head obtrudes in the door. "Excuse me," says the political boss.
"Mr. Lockwin, can you spare a moment? Hello, Jessie! no, papa will not
be home to-night. Tell mamma, will you?"

A curly head is saddened. Lockwin thanks the shepherdess, and follows
his boss.