cheeks, and the lofty little air which nothing could change. She was
also painfully conscious that her dress was neither fresh nor
becoming without a bit of ribbon or a knot of flowers to give it the
touch of color it needed. She had an artistic eye, and used to
delight in ordering charming costumes for herself in the happy days
when all her wishes were granted as if fairies still lived. She
tossed over her very small store of ribbons in vain; everything had
been worn till neither beauty nor freshness remained.

"Oh dear! where CAN I find something to make me look less like a
nun,--and a very shabby one, too?" she said, longing for the pink
corals she sold to pay Laura's doctor's bill.

The sound of a soft tap, tap, tap, startled her, and she ran to open
the door. No one was there but Laura, fast asleep on the sofa. Tap,
tap, tap! went the invisible hand; and as the sound seemed to come
from the window, Jessie glanced that way, thinking her tame dove had
corne to be fed. Neither hungry dove nor bold sparrow appeared,--only
a spray of Japanese ivy waving in the wind. A very pretty spray it
was, covered with tiny crimson leaves; and it tapped impatiently, as
if it answered her question by saying, "Here is a garland for you;
come and take it."

Jessie's quick eye was caught at once by the fine color, and running
to the window she looked out as eagerly as if a new idea had come
into her head. It was a dull November day, and the prospect of
sheds, ash-barrels, and old brooms was a gloomy one; but the whole
back of the house glowed with the red tendrils of the hardy vine
that clung to and covered the dingy bricks with a royal mantle, as
if eager to cheer the eyes and hearts of all who looked. It preached