It was very noble of her to come out of herself and refuse to accept
what she instinctively felt did not belong to her.

A week passed away. A child in the village had had strange dreams
concerning the gifts, which, in substance, was that a beautiful angel
had come from the stars above, and brought flowers to every house in
which a light was seen.

"We did not have any light that night,--don't you remember?" remarked the
eldest of the women, as their neighbor told them of the strange dream.

"There must be _something_ in it," answered the little bright-eyed
woman. "For all the dwellings had flowers which were lighted."

"I suppose we ought always to be more hopeful," said the women
together. "The lamps of our houses should typify the light of hope,
which should never be dim, nor cease burning."

* * * * *

Hope was taken up, by a golden cord, to her abode. The starry group
sang heavenly anthems to refresh her, and Love twined a fresh garland
for her brow. They held another festival in the temple, in honor of her
and her safe return from the earth.

Ever since she has been the brightest light in the group; and at night,
when the clouds rising from the earth obscure all the others, the star on
the brow of Hope is shining with a heavenly lustre, and seen by all whose
gaze is upward.