a little sermon of courage, aspiration, and content to those who had
the skill to read it, and bade them see how, springing from the
scanty soil of that back yard full of the commonest objects, the
humblest work, it set its little creepers in the crannies of the
stone, and struggled up to find the sun and air, till it grew strong
and beautiful,--making the blank wall green in summer, glorious in
autumn, and a refuge in winter, when it welcomed the sparrows to the
shelter of its branches where the sun lay warmest.

Jessie loved this beautiful neighbor, and had enjoyed it all that
summer,--the first she ever spent in the hot city. She felt the
grace its greenness gave to all it touched, and half unconsciously
imitated it in trying to be brave and bright, as she also climbed up
from the dismal place where she seemed shut away from everything
lovely, till she was beginning to discover that the blue sky was
over all, the sun still shone for her, and heaven's fresh air kissed
her cheeks as kindly as ever. Many a night she had leaned from the
high window when Laura was asleep, dreaming innocent dreams, living
over her short past, or trying to look into the future bravely and
trustfully. The little vine had felt warmer drops than rain or dew
fall on it when things went badly, had heard whispered prayers when
the lonely child asked the Father of the fatherless for help and
comfort, had peeped in to see her sleeping peacefully when the hard
hour was over, and been the first to greet her with a tap on the
window-pane as she woke full of new hope in the morning. It seemed
to know all her moods and troubles, to be her friend and confidante,
and now came with help like a fairy godmother when our Cinderella
wanted to be fine for the little ball.

"Just the thing! Why didn't I think of it? So bright and delicate