kind and thoughtful and watched over her tenants with a
motherly care for which no landlord could pay in
dollars and cents. She was on her knees on the stairs
now, scrubbing down the steps to be crowded again with
muddy feet from the street below.

Mary lay for half an hour snuggling under the warm
blankets, weaving a romance about Ella's life. A great
love for some heroic man who died and left her in
poverty could alone explain the mystery that hung about
her. She never spoke of her life or people. Mary had
ventured once to ask her. A wan smile flitted across
the haggard face for a moment, and she answered in low
tones that closed the subject.

"I haven't any people, dear," she said slowly.
"They are dead long ago."

The girl wondered if it were really true. In her
joy this morning she felt her heart go out to the
pathetic, drooping figure on the stairs. She
wished that every living creature might share the
secret joy that filled her soul.

She drew the kitten from his nest beside her pillow
and rubbed her cheek against his little cold nose. He
always waked her with a kiss on her eyelids and then
coiled himself back for a tiny cat-nap until she could
make up her mind to rise.