Picture on the Wall!

To that picture Becky went now. She had never been able to see it
distinctly from any window. It was the Good Shepherd. The noble, patient
face bent over the child on the man's breast had power to still Becky's
distraught mind. She could not understand, but a groping of that part of
her that could still feel and suffer reached the underlying suggestion
of the artist. Here was someone who was doing what, in a vague and
bungling way, Becky herself had always wanted to do--shield the young,
helpless thing that belonged to her.

The old face twitched and the soiled, crinkled arms--so empty and
yearning--hugged the trembling body. And so Sister Angela found her.

The three years since Angela had seen Becky Adams had taught her much of
her people--she called them _her_ people, now.

"I am so glad to see you, Aunt Becky," she said, smiling and pointing to
a chair by the hearth, quite in an easy way. "Are you tired after your
long walk?"

"Sorter." Becky came over to the chair and sank into it. Then she said
abruptly: "Zalie's gone!"

The brief statement had power to visualize the young creature as Angela
had once seen her: pretty as the flower whose name she bore, a little
shy thing with hungry, half-afraid eyes.

"Is she--dead?" Sister Angela's gaze grew deep and sympathetic.