laying her little snowflake of a hand upon the one which that
morning had chafed the small, stiff fingers of Dora Deane, and
which now tenderly pressed those of Ella Grey as the young man
answered, "I have not felt like going out today, for my first call
saddened me;" and then, with his arm around the fairy form of
Ella, his affianced bride, he told her of the cold, dreary room,
of the mother colder still, and of the noble little girl, who had
divested herself of her own clothing, that her mother might be
warm.

Ella Grey had heard of such scenes before--had cried over them in
books; but the idea that _she_ could do anything to relieve
the poor, had never entered her mind. It is true, she had once
given a _party dress_ to a starving woman, and a _pound of
candy_ to a ragged boy who had asked for aid, but here her
charity ended; so, though she seemed to listen with interest to
the sad story, her mind was wandering elsewhere, and when her
companion ceased, she merely said, "_Romantic_, wasn't it."

There was a look of disappointment on the young man's face, which
was quickly observed by Ella, who attributed it to its right
source, and hastened to ask numberless questions about Dora--"How
old was she? Did he think her pretty, and hadn't she better go to
the funeral the next day and bring her home for a waiting-maid?--
she wanted one sadly, and from the description, the orphan girl
would just suit."

"No, Ella," answered her lover; "the child is going to live in the
country with some relatives, and will be much better off there."